


Flightless Birds

by jamespotter



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Sex, Crossdressing, M/M, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Student Harry, Student/Teacher, Students, Teacher Louis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-13 17:10:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamespotter/pseuds/jamespotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Louis didn’t really want to be an English Lit teacher to begin with, so sleeping with his student/apartment neighbor (or at least fantasizing about it) didn't seem as bad anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I have a thing for student/teachers and vowed not to write any larry fic before I did this, so.  
> y'know.
> 
> it's also posted on my tumblr (electrifylarry).

Louis Tomlinson was having an okay day—the kind of _okay day_ that was truthfully pretty shit, however he refused for it to go downhill.

Forcing himself to relax, he continued to map out his lecture on the blackboard. Lou had arrived at precisely 4:53 a.m. this Monday morning. Since then, he’d cleaned out the cobwebs collecting in the corners of the room, set out a copy of Dante Alighieri's _Inferno_ to each desk along with a relatively long syllabus of books, written his name and some notes up by the front of the room (and then promptly erased them to write in neater script), and made up his desk.

The last task proved to be the hardest yet. He didn’t have many personal items to make himself feel at home, and he taught all of three classes, so there wasn’t much paperwork to clutter or to give the feel of a real, hardworking _teacher_. Instead he had two photographs framed, one depicting him and his mother last Christmas, the other of Lottie, Fizzy, and the twins from their vacation to the Caribbean two years prior—he wished more than anything to have recent photos of his sisters, though that seemed impossible given his situation. Other than those, he had an assortment of colorful folders (that he arranged into a rainbow in a failed attempt to liven the place), a stack of books with various authors, and a collection of Bic pens in a neat pile should he need them.

It all seemed very uncharacteristic and mundane. He wondered vaguely what his workspace might look like if he were a Drama teacher, as he desired, instead of teaching English Literature to seventeen-to-eighteen year olds, who frankly did not care whether or not Dante’s Hell was hot or cold (it’s cold, in case you were wondering). He knew this because he was one of them not to long ago, and he wished very ardently for those years back.

Louis sighed and looked at the clock. It was five minutes before his first class—Honors—began, yet none of his students were showing up. He could hear the hallway din of people laughing and crowding, yet none of those students seemed to be his.

Louis took a shaky breath and told himself to stop acting like Liam, heaven forbid. He was funny Louis. Spontaneous Louis. Your first invite to the party Louis. He was in no means barren rooms, mahogany desks, and ink stains under his (rather flawlessly sculpted, if he did say so himself) fingernails. He was never _Mr. Tomlinson_ , yet somehow now he _was_.

 _Gross,_ he thought. The bell rang then, a loud F-sharp Louis noted, but the room was still vacant. He sprung to his feet and opened the door with a rather dramatic huff to find all thirteen of his students sitting cross-legged outside the door.

“What are you all doing out here? Why haven’t you come in?”

A blonde boy leaning against the walls piped up. “We assumed the door was locked. Usually the teachers have the doors open.”

Louis noticed the boy’s heavily Irish accent and wondered why no one in a class of Honor students thought to at least jiggle the doorknob.

“No, no, come in—I—just take a seat anywhere; there isn’t a seating plan.”

The students pooled in and grouped with their friends. The Irish boy sat in the very front of the room without thought next to a taller boy, this time with dark brown curls falling into his eyes. The two conversed quietly while the others, all girls, giggled in the background.

“This is a very small class, ‘innit?” Louis smiled to himself, but none of them smiled back. He cleared his throat awkwardly. Things went much smoother when he imagined it. “So, er—you should have written a thesis paper on _Jane Eyre_ over the summer, so why don’t you pass those to the front now…”

Few people reached for their papers at his words. The only two boys in the class, Irish and Curly, didn’t reach for their bags at all.

“Is this all?” Louis asked, holding up the stack of papers a few moments later. “What about you two; where are yours’?”

“My printer broke,” the blonde said nervously. “But I did write it.”

“Your printer broke? It broke all summer?”

“Yes.”

“And there was no other printer you could use?”

Curly, beside him, snickered into his sweatshirt sleeve.

“No.”

Louis sighed. “What are your names?”

“Niall,” the blonde said, “and this is Harry.”

“Niall, stay after school today and print it. I’ll give you full credit if you give it to me by three-thirty. And you, Harry?”

Harry looked up, uninterested. “Yes?”

“Your paper?”

“Oh, that,” the boy said offhandedly, “I never wrote one. Couldn’t think of a thesis.”

Louis cocked his head.  The girls in the back of the room were starting to laugh very loudly.

“There was a list of suggestions on the assignment sheet, right?”

“I lost the paper.” Harry shrugged, and Louis decided not to pursue it.

“Does anyone else have any excuses?” The room was very silent. “Okay, well, that’s that. My name is Louis Tomlinson, and this year we’re going to start off with Dante’s _Inferno_. However, before that I want to get to know you.” Several people groaned at his words, and he laughed very lightly, setting the papers down behind on his desk. “I know, I know. People hate doing this and say it’s stupid, but I’ve never met you before, so you’ll do it anyways. Go around and tell me your name and one thing about you.”

They started in the front. Niall perked. “My name’s Niall Horan, and I’m Irish.”

Harry doubled over in laughter, and a girl in the back of the room muttered, “You say that every time, you dolt.”

“Nationalities don’t count, then, Niall,” Louis told him. “Something else.”

“Fine. Then, um, I work in a library, even though I hate books.”

“Good thing to tell your English Lit teacher, mate,” Harry laughed.

Louis smirked. “Why don’t you go then, Mr. Styles?”

Harry rolled his eyes and smiled cheekily. “My name is Harry Styles, and _I_ work in a bakery.” His voice was low, sultry.

The older man nodded, swallowing loud, and continued. There were few people in the room, so it didn’t take a long time. The girl who commented on Niall’s first choice, a bright girl with purple hair threaded with flowers, declared herself to be Perrie. The other girls consisted of Danielle, Harper, Loraine, Kat, and so on and so forth. Louis started to forget the names by the ninth one.

“Good. It’s a small class, so I think I have it. Why don’t you all pair up and read the first twenty pages and then we’ll discuss?”

Harry and Niall immediately turned to each other, their books untouched.

“Harry?” Louis said quietly as the class worked around them. The two boys looked up. “Would you see me after class?”

The younger boy agreed and turned away. After their hour together was up, and his kids started to leave, the curly-haired boy walked slowly, gracefully to the front desk.

“Can I help you?”

“Harry.” Louis handed him a paper. “A list of thesis ideas. I don’t want you to get a zero on your first assignment of the year, especially considering how heavily weighted it is. So I’ll give you half credit if you can give it to me by the end of the week.”

Harry sighed irritably, taking the paper with a huff.

“Is there a reason you lost it in the first place?”

“I was moving,” Harry said easily. “It got lost in one of the boxes. I’m not from here, originally from Cheshire.”

So that explained it. Louis would be lying if he said he didn’t empathize with the boy. Having too just gone through a move, he knew how easily as few papers could slip through the seams, yet it didn’t excuse not trying to find a new one.

“Try to be more responsible, Harry. If you need help with anything, you know you can always stay after or we can arrange a meeting to work out your future assignments,” he told him, trying to sound stern but not mean at the same time, and trying especially to not notice the rather intimidating height difference between them. Call him old fashioned, but Louis didn’t think it was fair that his eighteen-year-old student was taller than him by a good five inches.

Harry chuckled good-naturedly under his breath. “Yeah. Sure.”

\--

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. His last two classes were more cooperative than his first class had been, so there wasn’t much trouble. Niall, as promised, returned to his room by three-thirty with a copy of his paper. Soon, he was meandering down the city streets of London, just one block away from his new apartment.

When he reached it, he closed the door with a bang and threw his bag lazily on the floor, kicking off his shoes. “LIAM,” he called. “LIAM, WHERE ARE YOU?”

“He’s sleeping, you dumbbutt,” Zayn called from the couch. “I guess you could say I _wore him out_.”

“Disgusting,” Louis commented, reaching for a beer in the fridge. “As if I needed to know that. Does that mean you will be cooking dinner instead?”

Zayn turned off the television and spun around on the couch, facing the newly arrived. “Are you trying to tell me that Liam cooks you dinner _every night_?”

“Do I look like I could cook it myself?”

“Point taken. How was class, Professor?”

“I’m not teaching at Hogwarts asshat. It’s Mr. Tomlinson to you.”

“So I take it not well?”

“I didn’t say that. It went alright I suppose. As alright as it _can_ go. My students are idiots sometimes, but for the most part I think I remembered at least thirty-three percent of their names.”

“Any hot ones?”

Louis tossed the cap of his beer at Zayn’s head. “You have a loving puppy-dog of a boyfriend sleeping in his room after your midday sexcapades, and you have the _nerve_ —how dare you—”

Zayn laughed airily. “It’s not like I’m looking _for me_. Just curious. You could obviously use a lay. Your jokes are getting alarmingly sarcastic, and everyone knows sarcasm is the witty man’s last resort.”

“I am a witty man,” Louis mumbled desolately, sitting down on the couch next to him. “I _could_ use a lay. It’s been _so long_ , Zayn,” he whined, “but regardless, it’s illegal in several places to sleep with your students. And where it’s not, it should be. Besides, I doubt many of them are legally, shall we say, old enough for me.”

“Well then how about you take your mind off it. Once Liam wakes up we could go to the club or something. I hear _Borderline_ just opened up.”

Louis considered it. “No,” he decided. “I have thesis papers to grade. Already. Fuck summer work.”

“I’ll say. While you do that you should also think of unpacking all of your shit. It took me thirty minutes to find the fucking toaster in all of these boxes. Really inconvenient, Lou. Really dirty trick.”

“S’not a trick,” Lou mumbled. “Unpacking is hard. Too much work.”

Zayn patted Lou’s hair affectionately as the older boy started to fall asleep on him. “Also, your neighbors are annoying.”

“Is this the reason you come over here? To sleep with my roommate and complain about everything?”

“Your ‘roommate’ seems to enjoy it,” Zayn replied coolly.

They laid like that for thirty more minutes before Liam, dazed, messy-haired, and naked spare his black boxer-briefs, walked in and stole Zayn from a very weary Lou. Louis took that as a sign to start working. He showered, not bothering to put anything on besides his own underwear, and escaped to the kitchen table to start reading the papers.

He was surprised—they were actually very good. Some of them did get top marks—Perrie had done particularly well in proving that _Jane Eyre_ was Bronte’s most classic proof of her blatant feminism. Danielle followed up by the second highest score, then the boy from his third period class, Hunter. Niall had even proven to have very good marks. By seven o’clock at night, when Liam and Zayn started, like clockwork, to make out on the couch, Louis had almost graded all of the collected papers. He only had two more to go.

The only issue was, of course, the insistent banging coming from the wall connecting their apartment to their neighbors. Louis shook his head irritably. His furious libido was going unsatisfied, and hearing his neighbor getting all the pleasure was becoming almost impossible to ignore, impossible to work through. Pretty soon, the banging was getting louder, faster as their headboard connected with their walls, and Louis snapped. He grabbed the robe hanging on the back of his chair and ran to the door, walking across the hall and knocking rather rudely.

“I’d like very much for you all to _shut the fuck up!_ ” he called. He hadn’t planned for confrontation. At his screaming, the banging slowed. Satisfied, Louis turned on his heel to walk away when behind him he heard the door open.

“Excuse me?” someone was calling, and Louis froze.

He knew that slow, sultry voice. Turning, Louis saw his first period student, Harry Styles. Charming Harry Styles. Curly Harry Styles. The Harry Styles that still hadn’t turned in his thesis paper. Except this didn’t look like the cheeky, giggling boy that sat front-row in his English Literature class. This boy was sweaty and older looking, long, twining tattoos covering his body, some looking more like doodles than actual _tattoos_. Two unfamiliar birds were swooping and drawn on his collar bones. A large butterfly tattoo sat right in the center of his torso. _Oh god_. The worst part, though, was that Charming Harry Styles was unmistakably _naked._ Without a shirt. Without trousers. Without underwear.

“Oh my god,” Harry yelped. He turned quickly and shut the door to his apartment behind him. Louis was thinking the exact same thing.

\--

“Liam.”

“Louis.”

“Liam, I’m dying.”

“Why’s that?”

“I just saw my student naked. _Aroused,_ Liam. Aroused.”

Liam looked up, suddenly interested. “Are you being serious?”

Louis collapsed into the armchair and curled in on himself. “God, I wish I weren’t.”

“Who answers the door naked and hard?” Zayn wondered aloud. “That doesn’t sound like a very neighborly thing to do.”

“I think it was in retaliation to me telling them to shut the fuck up through the door, which wasn’t very neighborly to begin with. You should have seen it. Hanging there. Like ‘I’m not going to stop, what are you going to do about it?’”

Zayn laughed a bit too loudly and Liam wrinkled his nose. “You don’t have to go into the gory details. Please.”

“Was he hung?” Zayn asked casually.

“Zayn!”

“What! This was exactly what I was saying earlier. You need a lay. Really bad, Lou. It’s getting obvious. And it just so happens that a very hung, sexy, gay student of yours is your new neighbor?”

“I never said he was hung, sexy, _or_ gay.”

“Well, was he?”

“God, I didn’t even see who he was banging, Zaynie. It could have been a girl. And even if he wasn’t it doesn’t mean he’s completely _gay_ , per say.”

“And on the subject of being sexy and hung?”

“I want to sleep,” Louis said. “I want to sleep forever. Goodnight.”

“Oh, you’re being dramatic—”

But Louis did not want to hear. He left the armchair and escaped to his room. The banging of Harry’s headboard had seized but was still ringing through his head; the image of Harry’s sated body standing very bare in the hallway he now had to walk down every day would never leave. He would never get over it, he was sure, and it wasn’t dramatic. Louis dreaded with every fiber of his body going to class the next morning, or for the rest of the year for that matter.

He rolled over in bed and tried not to pay attention to his hardening erection. Louis just really needed a lay, that’s all.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward sexual tension and confusing, conflicting relationships.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is very non-explicit smut between Louis an OC, but it's so short, it's barely there. Other than that, I hope I'll be able to update soon. I'm so excited to write the next chapter you have no idea.

The next day was destined to end in melodramatic failure. Louis realized this the moment his alarm went off. It was only his second day at that damned school in this damned city—he hadn’t expected to get tired of it until _at least_ the third week.

He dressed slowly for work, slipping on his dark trousers and tightening his braces to a near-uncomfortable fit. Some part of his brain recognized that moving slower did not mean time did as well, but he didn’t listen. He’d eaten nearly two and a half bagels before he decided he couldn’t put off walking down that hallway any longer. He slipped the note Zayn had left him on the counter—( _Have fun at school today, Boobear. Try not to make yourself look too thirsty! xoxo zayn)_ —into his briefcase and collected his thoughts.

He opened the door and started to walk as quickly as he could, however his heart nearly jumped when he noticed a shorter, disheveled boy leaving Harry’s flat with an armful of clothes.

 _A guy_ , Louis thought, _oh for god’s sake_. However, he could ignore it. He walked as if he didn’t know what was happening, as if last night never happened, as if that young man wasn’t walking a bit funny…

He made it past Harry’s door before Harry himself came out. He tried to ignore that as well, the labored breathing of Harry heaving his backpack on his shoulder, the quiet _thump thump thump_ of his shoes on the hallway carpet behind him. Harry, shameless, had other plans.

“Mr. Tomlinson!”

Louis cringed at the name, and he tried to pretend he didn’t hear it. A large hand landed on his shoulder, and Lou tried not to picture where that hand had been.

“Sorry about last night,” Harry told him, and he sounded like he meant it. Was he being _bashful?_

“Don’t even mention it, Mr. Styles. Let’s just forget,” Louis told him. He hoped his voice didn’t sound too strained.

“Thanks,” Harry said, relieved. “’innit a bit weird, though? That we’re neighbors?”

“A bit,” Louis muttered lowly. He was purposefully keeping his eyes forward, walking in long strides, but Harry didn’t have any trouble keeping up. They parted in the parking lot, as Louis diverted his way to his car. Harry, however, appeared to be walking to school.

Louis watched him stroll away from the safety of his front seat. The boy didn’t look like someone who often slept around. He looked unkempt, very unlike Louis. Harry’s hair was flopping unevenly into his face, not helped in the slightest by the patterned beanie tucked loosely on his head. His dark jeans were ripped at the knees, but not fashionably so—almost as if he’d fallen somewhere wearing them and didn’t bother to get a new pair. Even his old _Queen_ t-shirt was wrinkled and old looking. Louis wanted desperately to clean him up, scrub the grime from his fingernails, give him a pair of proper jeans—anything.

It started to rain on his way to school, and Louis immediately thought of Harry, walking all the way to the high school alone with no jacket. He’d completely forgotten to check the weather report. When the boy walked into his first period class, he was drenched and dripping on the linoleum floors. This didn’t seem to deter his mood, though. He sat down in the front row next to Niall and started to chat. Lou watched, fascinated, as Harry fixed his flattened fringe, face flushed red. How horrible was it that he knew what this student looked like naked? Louis groaned under his breath.

“Wotcher, class. I trust you all have your books? Good—take them out.”

\--

At the end of the day, Louis had already decided what he was going to do. He made sure to run into Harry on his path out of school.

“Here—” Louis slipped off his jacket and drew it over the taller boy’s shoulders.

“Wha—”

“It’s raining, and you’re going to catch a cold. You can give it back to me whenever. I’m only across the hall.”

Harry’s face went unreadable for a moment, and then he broke out into a brilliant grin, bright enough to dispel the rain if it wanted to. “Thanks, Mr. Tomlinson.”

“I’m Louis outside of school, Mr. Styles.”

“And I’m Harry outside of school, Louis.”

Louis tried not to laugh too loud or smile too wide, because he really shouldn’t have. For the first time that day, he could look Harry into his green, green eyes and not think about their awkward first-impressions or that limping, nameless boy who stayed the night. He just thought of Harry, and he found that nice.

He drove home singing along to Queen—he put in the CD that had been shucked to the back of his car since his college graduation, inspired by Harry’s shirt. When he pulled into his flat, he was smiling. Zayn and Liam did not fail to notice.

“Where’s lover boy?” Zayn called, and Liam flicked his ear.

“Walking home. I gave him my jacket so he won’t catch pneumonia. If he comes by to drop it off, _I’m_ answering the door okay? I don’t want any more naked greetings.”

“S’not like I actually live here anyways.”

“Practically,” Louis mumbled, sitting down on the couch. “We’re going out this weekend, okay? To a club, a bar—I just need some relief.”

“This something you’ve been thinking about a lot lately?” asked Zayn flirtatiously. He played absently with Liam’s hair, carding his hands through. Liam leaned into the touch.

“Oh, stop—Harry and I aren’t like that. It’s just—I don’t think that boy has much money, you know? And he lives alone, save for the few one-night stands. I feel a bit sad thinking about it. I want to help him—like—like I wanna be one of those teachers in those movies, where they’re all mystical and loyal and wise and they help their students, and in return their students thank them in their Nobel Prize speeches, yeah?”

“Mate, I seriously doubt that boy is going to win a Nobel Prize in anything. Plus—and I’m just being honest here—you aren’t in _Freedom Writers_ or _The Perks of Being a Wallflower_ or _Dead Poets Society_ , okay? Just teach the little bastards and cash the check.”

“They aren’t even much younger than _me_ ,” Lou complained.

“Which makes bending young Harry over your desk not as bad.”

Lou raised his arms in frustration. “ _Why do you keep pushing this?_ ”

Zayn simply shrugged and smiled into the crook of Liam’s shoulder.

\--

The rest of the week passed much more quickly. On Thursday Harry gave him his thesis paper, and even though Louis was planning on giving him half credit, he was so shocked by the complexity of the paper and the in-depth analysis of Jane’s inner confliction, he gave Harry full credit instead. He was honestly surprised—Harry barely put any effort into any of his work nor did he participate in class, yet with that ten page paper in his hands, Louis had no doubt that Harry was one of the more gifted children he was currently teaching.

Friday night rolled around and Zayn had barely left the flat all week. By seven o’clock him and Liam were getting ready for their outing to _Borderline_ , which they’d surreptitiously convinced Louis into going.

“Wear something sexy!” Zayn called from across the flat, and Louis wolf-whistled back. He dug through his closet, throwing options onto his bed, but didn’t find anything satiable.

“Zayn!” He called back, “Can I borrow your leather trousers?”

He could only hear Zayn and Liam’s laughter as his response.

They arrived at the club two hours later. Louis was clad in tight leather, restricting places that really shouldn’t be restricted, especially with the intentions Louis had for the night. He didn’t even bother to dance. Some god-awful song was playing, one with too much computer generation and bass. Twining, churning bodies suffocated him—he ran immediately to the bar, asking for the first drink he saw on the order board, which he downed in three gulps.

It didn’t take long for him to find a willing participant to flirt with; Louis did not feel bad for chatting up someone he had no intention of staying with. The man, Fabian, was tall and broad, with groomed stubble and long eyelashes, and from the way his hand rested unsubtly on Louis’s thigh, his intentions were no less honorable than Louis’s.

They were giggling into each other shirts as they made their way down the hallways of the complex, stumbling over their intoxicated footsteps. Fabian was sucking a dark spot onto Louis neck, making his hands shake as he tried to unlock the door to his flat.

“Hurry up,” Fabian complained. His hands were sliding down alarmingly fast.

“Ah—shit—” The keys dropped onto the carpet, barely noticed by the taller man.

Fabian made a crude noise and nearly lifted Louis off his feet, pinning him against the closed door, hands going for the buttons of his jacket. They must have been like that for nearly ten minutes, ravenous hands and breathless kisses, hair tugging and pulling and clawing. He had no measure of time; he only knew he needed to be pleased soon, and when that was over, Fabian would sneak out in the early hours of the morning like they always do. He craved the anonymous pleasure more than anything.

He did not get it the way he expected though. Within moments of these new thoughts, Louis could hear the muffled laughter that echoed what Fabian and Lou had sounded like prior. _No_ , he thought _, this can’t be happening_. But it was, because Harry was inconvenient and spontaneous and life just works out that way for people like him, and Louis was destined to be caught with a stranger’s hand down his pants in the middle of the hallway by his first period Lit student. His relationship with Harry was destined to be awkward with avoiding eye contact and a mixture of mutual understanding and unspoken differences.

Harry Styles had his arm around that same boy who’d left this very hallway not one week previously. His companion was a slight thing—lean, rosy-cheeked, and hazel-eyed. It suddenly occurred to Louis that this boy was not Harry’s one night stand like he assumed—he was a _boyfriend_ , and an overwhelming, unnamable emotion ate at the pit of Lou’s stomach. He suddenly felt very sick of Fabian, who was still pressing his lower-half down onto his.

When Harry’s eyes met his, Louis swore there was skepticism, though he didn’t blame the younger man. Louis would have been dubious if he were in Harry’s position.

“Lou?” Harry asked quietly, the hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder slipping considerably. “Is that—” And then his eyes bulged, noticing the hand down Lou’s leather trousers. The teacher scrambled down the floor for the keys and unlocked it with swift hands, breathing hard.

Some part of him was angry—unbearably so—how dare that boy— _a boyfriend_? Louis couldn’t rationalize his rage though, so he took it out. He would show that boy what he went through that night a week ago, the incessant banging and the unceasing mortification. Louis took Fabian by the collar and brought him to his bedroom, throwing him down on the mattress.

Within minutes, as Harry Styles sat in his kitchen making his friend Rowan tea, loud crashing noises of a headboard slamming against his wall came into his awareness. They weren’t the normal sex-banging that he’d often heard though. It was loud, furious almost, so hard Harry feared the wall would crumble. It was impossible to overlook, and a dark heat overtook his face.

“Didn’t you say that was your English teacher?” Rowan asked hesitantly.

Harry didn’t respond—he couldn’t, not for the next hour or so.

\--

“Why does it always end like this, Liam?” Louis asked rhetorically. “Things are fine, and then I do something horribly embarrassing out of my lack of conviction, and then I make it up to the boy, settle the score, and it’s just worse.”

“Well, you _did_ go on for, like, _an hour_ , Lou. That is hard to forget about, as we all know. At least now you’ll feel better with, well, _you know.”_

“Mmm,” Louis mumbled, “Yeah. It was nice. Bit sore, though.”

Liam stirred the pot of noodles and then set down the spoon. “Do you mind heading out and getting a loaf of bread to go with dinner? I thought we had some, but apparently Zayn ate it with his soup the other day.”

“What do we need bread for anyways?”

“Spaghetti,” Liam said, and then: “Oh, don’t give me that look. If you don’t want spaghetti, make your own dinner—now get!”

Louis didn’t know London well—he’d been few times, and since moving there, he hadn’t done any of the shopping. He made his way down, looking at the squares and the shops lining the crowded streets until he found somewhere promising. A bell dangling from the door rang as he pushed it open—it was soft and quaint inside, a safe shelter from the beginning drizzle.

There was a young boy at the front counter by the name of Rowan, as his nametag declared him. He barely looked up at Louis as he put a roll of Italian bread into a bag (along with a carrot cupcake, because Louis was hung-over and felt he deserved one for getting through his first week of teaching without committing any felonies). It wasn’t until Louis took out the money to pay him did Rowan’s eyes light up in recognition.

“You’re Harry’s neighbor, aren’t you?” His hand slapped over his mouth, as if he wasn’t supposed to say that, and he squeaked unattractively.

“Oh my god,” Louis said, because the last time he looked Rowan in the eyes he’d been properly pissed, hadn’t he? He nearly forgot what the boy looked like.

Harry had told him he worked in a bakery, and yet he didn’t even think of that when he walked in. So as Harry came in through the kitchen door behind the counter, Louis grabbed his bag and left the bakery and into the rain, forgetting his change. Because he wanted to see Harry very badly, but not like that. It scared him how much he wanted to turn around and go back, but he would have his chance later.

If you asked Louis, he wouldn’t admit that yes, he stopped at the bakery every day for the rest of the week.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big things, big things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes.
> 
> Some John Green references, some Broadway musical references, some references to books you should have read in high school, some pixies, some kissing. Lots of shit going down, basically. I'm so sorry for the late update, seeing as I completely forgot about end of the year testing. Can we all hope I passed? Thanks again for the reads, comments, bookmarks, etc. It means a lot!
> 
> xx

Harry’s bakery was nearly non-existent unless you were specifically looking for it. Tucked snugly between a shoe store and a post office, it was small and unnoticeable to its passersby and made little business. That being said, it was easy for the workers to recognize their regular customers, and Louis Tomlinson just became one of them.

After spending so long trying to avoid Harry given their awkward meetings and a week of no eye contact or interaction in class, Louis continued to spend every day after school in the bakery where Harry worked. He didn’t even eat or buy anything—he would occasionally get himself a cupcake or a soda, but otherwise he spent most of his time looking out the small windows by the front and grading papers with a red ball-point pen that reminded him of primary school. He silently hoped Harry would come over and talk to him, yet he didn’t know what he would say in such a situation. He’d gone over the fake conversations in his head several times, though those usually consisted of Harry complimenting him on his stamina in bed and Louis making a witty, possibly sarcastic remark in return that sounded very cold and standoffish (which would obviously make Harry pine for him more).

And Louis would appear to be the cool, rugged, indifferent school teacher that Harry lusted after but could never pluck up the confidence to actually ask out.

Except Louis knew Harry didn’t like him like that, and the cashier Rowan was example one. Louis couldn’t help but compare them. Rowan was slightly shorter than Louis, though they were both made of narrow, acute angles and had slight frames. Albeit, Rowan had a plethora of freckles on his nose and cheeks. Was that what Harry liked? Freckles? Louis groaned internally.

He was too far along to deny he was attracted to the kid—who _wasn’t_ attracted to the kid? He was sarcastic and slouchy and had the best taste in music judging from his varying rotation of band t-shirts. (And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop picturing the tattoos littering the boy’s chest, everything from the swooping birds, to the butterfly, to the three nails.)

And he was really good at rationalizing this attraction too—at first he’d been mortified, not only at the neighbor shock, but then there was the whole nakedness, the headboard banging, and the jacket (which Harry had yet to give back). But now he wanted to make it up to him. The year had so far been one of the worst years yet, and the board of education still refused him the job of a drama teacher, despite the fact the teacher had quit weeks ago and Louis didn’t know the first thing about literature or symbolism. He thought about his mother, Lottie, Fizzy, and the twins, and he knew he had to make money somehow, but wouldn’t they also want him to be happy? He figured losing his job was one thing—he could also get another one of those, but he couldn’t get another Harry Styles. (He hadn’t yet considered the whole jail situation yet—Harry was legal, but he wasn’t sure if that mattered at all considering he was a student).

All this for a boy who wouldn’t even recognize his existence from twenty feet away. That is, until Friday, one week after the Borderline incident when Harry walked over to Louis’s spot by the window and set down a carrot cake on Hunter Vaugn’s essay on _When the Emperor Was Devine_.

“Harry?” Louis asked in false surprise. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Bullshit,” Harry laughed easily, holding up his own cupcake and sitting down next to Louis. “You won’t leave. Is there a reason you’ve taken a liking to the place? It’s not much, and I’m dubious that it’s up to your speed.”

“S’nice to grade papers in,” Louis admitted sheepishly, his confidence dwindling. “Did you make this? It tastes wonderful.”

“Yeah,” Harry told him quietly. “I’m better at the crumble cakes, though.”

“Are they crumbly?”

“Well,” Harry sighed, “ _I_ think so. But they can’t be too-too crumbly, or else no one would be able to hold them, now would they?”

“It’s the thought of the crumble that counts. Are you on break or something?”

“Yeah. Damn Coach gave me early lunch, because it’s really dead in here, but I'm not hungry yet—do you want help with those?”

“The papers? No—I don’t think you’re allowed to help me, ‘cos—”

“Oi, I’m not _biased_ , if that’s what you think. I just moved here, remember? You’ve seen me—I don’t interact with anyone other than Niall, and that’s just because we would rather have each other than anyone else. I don’t think anyone else would take us up even if we wanted them. I don’t even know anyone’s name.”

Louis pursed his lips, but he caved when he thought of young Harry leaving him again. He handed over a stack of papers, a rubric, and a spare red pen.

They sat like that for the next hour, grading papers in silence until Damn Coach called for him again. Within that hour, their arms brushed casually, a jolt of the elbow or the phantom kiss of their forearms, and Louis was on Cloud 9.

And Louis came back the next day with more papers and more essays and more red ball-point pens that reminded him of primary school, and they sat in silence in the wide-open tables with the wide-open windows, and it was repetitive, and casual, and _nice_. And Louis hadn’t felt like that in a long time. In a way, it reminded him of his family, and the routine of it. The early rises to help his sisters get ready for school, and the daily put-downs for naps, and the brushing teeth and climbing into bed before seven. He missed his family—don’t get him wrong, he loved Zayn and Liam and their sporadic and spontaneous outings, but there was something about the familiarity of Harry and their little routine of grading papers in silence in the invisible bakery that made him feel at home. That made him feel like he was with family.

It came to the point where Louis assigned more papers to his students so he would have more to grade, more tests and quizzes and reports until he was absolutely positive his students loathed him. It didn’t matter to him though. He didn’t have anything better to do, or anything he’d _rather_ do than sit in comfortable silence with Harry. Louis was not naturally a quiet person. In his younger and more vulnerable years his mother had told him that the key to a healthy relationship was the ability to sit in comfortable silence without feeling the need to fill it with nonsensical conversation—but also being with a person you had so much in common with that comfortable silences weren’t so constant.

Louis had that with Harry. He was sure of it. Because even when they were silent, they never felt awkward. Sometimes Harry would get caught up in his own little world that Louis would hear him singing to himself. At first he didn’t mention it—he just listened. However, on the third week in, he mumbled, “Do you know you sing _Pixies_ under your breath when you work?”

“Yeah…,” Harry said indifferently, as if he didn’t think much of it.

“It’s endearing,” Louis told him quietly, ticking off a wrong answer with another dash. “Can you sing?”

“A bit,” Harry admitted. “I don’t know how _well,_ but I can do it.”

“Was that _‘Hey’_ before?”

He confirmed this by singing the lyrics, which Louis found suitably erotic. “ _Hey!_ Been trying to meet you, mmm... _Hey!_ Must be a _devil_ between us, or _whores_ in my head, _whores_ at the door, _whore_ in my bed—but _hey!_ Where have you been? If you go, I will _surely_ die…”

“Not half bad, Styles. You think I’ll be seeing you on the big stage one day?”

“You mean like in a concert? Nah. I couldn’t make that. I think once I'm done with school I’ll go back to Cheshire and leave London, although I do like it here.”

“I don’t know,” Louis protested, “I think I could see it. The name in lights: Harry Edward Styles! Or actually, you wouldn’t be like that would you? You’d just go around to different underground pubs, and play indie rock punk with your band mates, and wear guyliner, and live on the road for days without any real hotels. Just sleeping in the back of your car on the side of the street, on a road trip with your friends, all hipster with Polaroid cameras and sleeves of tattoos and t-shirts with the arms cut off.”

Harry grinned cheekily, looking up. “Do you have a whole vision planned out?”

Louis shrugged. “I don’t know. You just seem like the type of person.”

“No tour bus at all?”’

“In the vision, you’re too punk rock for a tour bus.”

Harry set down his pen and turned to the older man, resting his chin on his knuckles. “What else is in the vision?”

“Well, Niall of course, your right-hand man. Wouldn’t be complete without him.”

“And?”

“Well, you tell me!”

“Did you want to come along?” Harry asked shyly. “It is _your_ vision after all. You could be the bus driver?”

Louis scoffed. “The bus driver? Gee, thanks. Is that all I’m worth to you?”

“Well!” Harry laughed loudly, making a large, swooping gesture with his hands. “What else? Can you sing? Or do you want to be a body guard?”

“I can very well sing, thank you,” Louis huffed, subconsciously wrinkling his nose. “I can also play the piano. And the guitar. I could be very helpful on a road trip.”

“Can you cook?”

“Alas,” Louis sighed, “I cannot. However, I _can_ put on a _fantastic_ production of the Broadway Musical _RENT_. That might be useful for something, ‘innit?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Louis cocked his head. “I tried at least.”

They went casually silent for a minute, as Harry finished checking the last of his papers. He slipped the pile of papers on top of Louis’s and looked his teacher over. “Do you want to head back to the complex? I can make you a cuppa, maybe listen to Pixies.”

Louis ignored the tightening feeling of his stomach and was very pleasantly surprised to find he didn’t let his overexcitement show in the slightest. “Yeah, I don’t see why not. Maybe I can finally convince you to write that essay on _An Imperial Affliction_.”

“Oh, come on,” Harry moaned teasingly. “That thing’s, like, seven hundred pages. And I heard it ends rather stubbornly.”

“You’ll only know for sure if you read it. You cannot buy a passing grade from me with some Yorkshire Tea.”

Harry chucked. “I can damn well try.”

\--

When they arrived at the apartment, Louis was shocked to say the least. Harry opened the door to his flat (not two doors down from his own), and Louis couldn’t help but ask: “Were you robbed?”

Harry looked around, blushed, and then laughed quite awkwardly. “No,” he admitted. “I don’t exactly have a maid, and I’m no good at cleaning—sorry ‘bout that.”

The whole flat was a mess. A pile of dishes rested uneasily in the sink, the kitchen strewn with half-empty bags of crisps, mugs, and plastic utensils. The living room in sight was even worse. There was a large bookshelf that extended up to the ceiling, cluttered with toppled over DVDs and CDs of all different kinds, colors, and sizes. The floor was covered in blank CDs, sharpies, and an old, battered laptop. The DVD player was pulled out with the wires tangled behind it. Three crates sat beside the wire-antenna TV (which had its fame taped together with silver duck tape), and they looked filled with some sort of poster collection? No, that couldn’t be it; they were all the same size, cardboard looking almost.

Following his gaze, Harry saw what Louis was looking at. “Vinyl records,” he admitted sheepishly. “But before you say anything, I swear I’m not trying to be purposefully enigmatic or hipster or creative. They’re my mother’s. She has at least three hundred more in our house in Cheshire. She told me I could sell them for some rent money, but I’m trying to sell whatever else I can before those, because I know they meant a lot to her. So now I just looked through them, find good songs, and sell mix CDs online or to my friends. Bakery money doesn’t pay a lot.”

Harry shrugged off his jacket and slung it over the back of a kitchen chair. “Again, sorry for the mess.”

“No, no,” Louis said quickly. “I can’t say my flat isn’t just the same. You haven’t seen it, but my roommate Liam is, like, the only reason I can even see the carpet. His boyfriend, Zayn, is a complete slob. Like, puts his dirty boots up on the coffee table, doesn’t shower for days, et cetera. Which is weird, because when he _does_ clean up, he cleans up nice.”

Harry moved to the kitchen cabinets and reached to the top shelves for some mugs. As he did it, his shirt rode up slightly so Louis could see the dark ink of more tattoos, and he looked away very quickly, because it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to get hard at his student’s flat late at night. In fact, he didn’t think it was appropriate to be there at all, given their circumstances, but with all their history, Louis thought he could let it slide.

With his back to Louis, Harry stirred the tea and spoke at the same time in that low, slow voice of his. “Wait—so you aren’t dating Zayn?”

Louis whirled. “Wh—what? No, no of course not. I would never do that to Liam; he’s my best friend.”

“Oh. I just saw you too outside your flat, and I assumed—”

Something went off in Louis’s head, and he nearly vomited when he realized what Harry was implying. “Oh. Oh my god. No. That—that wasn’t Zayn, nor was it Liam. Listen—Harry—”

Harry turned around them, cheeks nearly as red as his lips in embarrassment. “No, no—just forget about that. I totally get it—it would be a bit hypocritical of me to call you out on that one, now wouldn’t it? After everything we’ve been through as neighbors. Ha, it’s only been two months now, and you’ve seen more of me than my closest friends.”

“That’s not appropriate, Harry, I’m your teacher. I should be apologizing. Completely unprofessional.”

“Lou.” Harry looked at him very seriously then, and with the moon creeping slowly up into the sky, its light was shining perfectly on the contours of Harry’s face. Lou’s breath took violently, and the sound was very audible in the otherwise silence. “You don’t act like a teacher. Don’t pretend to be one. Be my friend. You’re allowed to have a personal life, allowed to go to a club and hook up with strangers like anyone else your age.”

Lou didn’t want to be Harry’s friend. He wanted to be much, much more. Instead of voicing that, he just shook his head.

“You’re only like, what, twenty something? Lou, that’s like nothing of a gap to me. Most of my mates are around your age, and I’ve platonically seen almost all of them naked at one point or another. You don’t have to act like my teacher when we’re not in school.”

“And you?”

“What?”

“And you,” Louis clarified. “You’re dating the other bakery boy, aren’t you? Rowan or Ryan or something.” He played it off as if he didn’t know the name by heart, as if he hadn’t been repeating it in his constant inner monologue.

Harry’s blush, if possible, deepened. “Rowan? No—we’re just friends. With a very loose definition of the word. There are no feelings involved. No strings attached. You get what I mean, right? We both need to relax sometimes.”

He took the mug and handed it to Louis. It burned his hand, but he didn’t flinch. Louis was paying very close attention to their conversation—nothing could have possibly diverted his focus.

“I understand. God, how could I not?” He laughed, but it sounded forced. “Do I not recall you saying something about Pixies?”

Harry stuck out his tongue. “You’re a pixie.”

The younger boy set down his mug and walked over to the crates of vinyls, flicking through the albums before pulling out a bright yellow one and sliding out the record. He held it by the edges and placed it very gently on a rusty phonograph, moving the needle to the edge. Within seconds, through the scratchy sounds of Good Music, the voice of Black Francis came out of the speakers.

_“Hey! Been trying to meet you, mmm... Hey! Must be a devil between us, or whores in my head, whores at the door, whore in my bed—but hey! Where have you been? If you go, I will surely die…”_

Harry moved his hips in a ridiculously comically way, only one awkward swivel away from knocking over his bookcase, and Louis laughed manically from his couch, clapping for him. The older boy had his shoes kicked off somewhere and his jacket was nowhere to be seen. He was at the epitome of comfortable, fitted suitably in the corner of the couch cushions with a cuppa in his hands as the midnight air spilled in through the open doors of the balcony.

Harry sang along like his teacher wasn’t sitting in front of him, hands rising into the air. _“Said the lady to the man she adored, and the whores like a choir, uh uh. All night, and Mary, ain't you tired of this? Uh! Is the sound that the mother makes when the baby breaks!”_

His voiced reached a loud, breaking point as he screeched out the high notes, and Louis was beet red in his laughter. At the end of the song, Harry collapsed onto the couch next to Louis and landed a bit too closely. The starlight was cutting Harry’s face into fragments of light and dark, and Louis couldn’t take it anymore. He rocketed forward—their faces were close anyways—and grabbed his student’s face within his hands, knocking over the cup of tea onto the old, graying carpet. His twisted his fingers into Harry’s curly brown ringlets and pulled hard, not caring at all of the consequences, and Harry responded with as much enthusiasm as anyone would eyes could have hoped for.

And it was then, Louis decided as he looked back upon the moment, that he made the best decision of his life.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My opinion on the whole who top/bottom thing directly resulted from not being able to decide, definitely, who tops--I am essentially a selfish and indecisive person. So that led to phases like my lolita!harry phase, my powerbottom!louis phase, my dominant!harry phase, my top!louis phase, and so on and so forth. They will switch off in the fic. That being said, let's continue.
> 
> I know. I'm late. I'm a bad person, blah blah. I'm so sorry for that, but I have a feeling more open days are coming, and I will have more time.
> 
> Um warnings? Sex. A lot of it. And don't yell at me if this sucks, I rarely ever write smut, so give me a break. I'm just getting the hang of it, so therefore review would be lovely. :)
> 
> Thanks again for reading and commenting and bookmarking. I love the response I get, it means the world to me, and even though I say that every time, I mean it. I love you guys.
> 
> Without further ado...  
> xx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut warnings.

It was passionate—that was the only way Louis could describe it, though in retrospect, he didn’t exactly know how to define that word. Everything happened very quickly, too quickly for Louis to process their actions, too quickly for him to think about right and wrongs and what would Jesus do or his mother think. He just did on impulse, and his impulse was Harry.

When Louis took him by the hair, Harry’s hands went to Lou’s hips, rucking up his shirt from where it was tucked underneath the waistband. Lou felt warm hands slide up his torso, then rip open his shirt scattering buttons onto the carpet (he might have been angry about if he weren’t so oblivious). When Lou was completely devoid of a clothes, Harry caught the older boy’s bottom lip between his teeth and _pulled_ , rocking down and eliciting a whorish, girly moan from Louis that perhaps he should have been shameful for.

Instead, Lou’s hands fumbled clumsily with the tricky belt at Harry’s waist and cursed when he couldn’t work it free. Harry batted his hands away. “Allow me,” he said, and Lou watched as he striped free of all clothing in a few deft movements leaving his trousers, briefs, and t-shirt over the side of the couch.

It was dark—Louis couldn’t see much, but he could see enough, the way Harry’s skin looked as if woven from ivory and roses when he was aroused, and the way crimson broke out in flowering spots wherever Louis dragged his nails. That ended up being several places—Lou was feeling particularly desperate to grab at the younger boy—even naked and pressed together he wanted to be closer, wanted to shed each other of their skin and be connected in any way, the constant nuisance of not seeming quite enough. He kept grabbing at the taller boy, pulling his hair, his back, and his cock, and Harry responded fervently by scooping Lou up and letting the shorter boy wrap his legs around him. They stumbled into Harry’s room and fell clumsily onto the mattress, making Louis bounce with momentum. He moaned and then reached out to yank Harry on top of him.

Harry’s mouth twitched. “Eager?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Lou panted back.

“Let me help with that,” Harry replied smugly, albeit a bit breathless. He reached down and gave Lou’s cock three firm strokes, looking at the lithe body underneath him as if debating which way he’d like to take the older boy, in what position, and how many times. Lou knew that’s the face he’d want to see every day, all day with the same slight, suggestive tug of his lips and devilish curiosity in his eyes. Harry moaned then, as if a pleasurable thought came to mind, and he leaned down to take the head of Louis’s dick into his mouth. Louis bucked involuntarily. He couldn’t help it—he had no self control. He waited for weeks, picturing those red lips stretched around his cock, and until fifteen minutes ago, Louis didn’t think he’d ever get farther than those fantasies. The change was sending him into whirlwinds.

Immediately his hand went to Harry’s tangling curls—it was not smooth everywhere, bristly in some places and even a bit knotted with their night’s sexcapades, but for some reason the messiness of it turned Louis on—he pulled hard and Harry swallowed around his dick in response.

“Ah…ah!” Louis was practically screaming, his grunts and moans echoing off the cheaply built walls. He’d always been especially personal and loud during sex, but it was the lack of recent contact that escalated his performance. Even then, it was nearly three weeks since the Borderline incident, and although fantasies of fucking Harry over his classroom desk had proven to be the most successful fantasy of all, he hadn’t gotten properly off in what seemed like an inappropriate amount of time.

It was perfect the way Harry gave head, slow, tentative at first and then daring as time went on. Probably encouraged by Louis’s frantic reaction, Harry went further, hollowing his cheeks and _sucking,_ and oh dear lord, it’s like wires were snapping in the shorter boy’s mind. He arched painfully; coming in hot spurts so suddenly, his leg jolted and kneed himself in the chest.

Louis face was burning hotly in embarrassment. He doesn’t want to open his eyes to face Harry, because a student just gave him the best orgasm he’s had since high school, and he came so early that surely Harry must be _laughing_ at him right now. He pictured the boy saying something sarcastic like “Doesn’t take much does it?” When Lou plucked up the courage to open his eyes though, he saw that Harry was far from laughing. He looked turned on, pupils blown so you couldn’t seen any green, hair askew, and Lou felt himself getting hard once more.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispered quietly.

Harry caught his mouth in a kiss, and he couldn’t help but respond despite the protests of his sated body. Fingers slid down the faint happy trail of his abdomen, and Lou was so willing to spread his legs as far as they could go. He expected sex with Harry to be hot and quick and hard, yet it wasn’t. Harry guided a finger into Lou slowly, gently, as if actually concerned he might hurt the shorter boy. _Don’t worry_ , he wanted to say, _I’m not exactly newly packaged goods_. But that’s how Harry was treating him, with eyebrows furrowed and lip bit in concentration; he was focusing on making Lou’s experience as painless and pleasurable as possible. Lou couldn’t breathe with Harry looking at him like that—so hungry yet concerned at the same time.

He added another finger once absolutely sure Louis could take it, and Lou tried to let him know he could go faster by making small, needy whimpers every time Harry spread his fingers. His breathing was hard, fast, and haggard by the time Harry brought forward a third finger. Lou was pressing down further on the digits, working himself up and down in an effort to get closer, but Harry noticed and used his other hand to pin down Louis’s hips.

“Not quite yet,” Harry murmured, “I wanna make sure you feel it.”

“ _I feel it_ ,” Louis whined back, “God—God, I feel it, I feel it, _please_ …”

“Are you sure?” Harry asked deeply into the crook of Louis’s neck, because Louis was digging his fingers into Harry’s nape and making little half-crescent indents, trying to get Harry to see that _yes, he was feeling it, he was feeling everything_ , _everything there is._ It was nearly frustrating the way everything was being dragged out in slow, tantalizing movements, overstimulation at its finest, yet it only turned Louis on more.

“ _Please_ ,” Louis said, voice dropping to below a whisper and head falling back limply. “Please.”

“Of course,” Harry replied smoothly, pulling out the three, knuckle-deep fingers.

He kneeled between Louis’s spread legs and positioned himself, one hand planted by Louis’s head for support. When he pushed in at the puckered entrance, Louis held his breath and then released once the younger boy was fully sheathed. Harry waited for Louis to adjust before rocking slightly—not much, but enough to erect a choking noise from the boy below him. It hurt—Lou would be lying if he said it didn’t, but anal sex always hurt at first, and Harry’s earlier efforts didn’t prove to be for naught. The next drives were faster, and he rocked once, twice, before Louis was screaming just like before, pulling hair and the sheets around him, digging his nails in the duvet and tearing the cloth. With Louis’s legs wrapped tightly around his narrow hips, Harry didn’t have much room for leeway as he thrusted. They rocked at a steady pace, working up speed, and Louis met him with each plunge.

Harry’s face was so close, their lips just barely brushing, noses pressed snugly together; they were literally breathing each other’s air, and Louis wouldn’t let him get far away. He raised a hand to cup Harry’s face and keep him in place, the other moving down the pale column of his neck, and he nearly laughed out loud at the realization that yes, Harry made love as deep as he spoke. Except what came out instead was a yelp as Harry hit a certain spot, and Louis was arching up again into Harry’s welcoming hands—his neck fell back so Harry could suck a dark mark into the rosy skin there.

With each drive forward, Louis didn’t think he could last any longer. His cock was lying fully and painfully erect between their stomachs, rubbed with the friction of their movements and leaking so profusely he was sure he was dying. Louis was becoming increasingly more useless, body getting heavier and heavier like a ragdoll as Harry moved inside of him, but the other boy did not seem to mind. He continued to roam Louis’s body and explore, fingers pressing into the deep nooks and crannies most didn’t bother to touch—the rivets under his rib cage, the slight dip of his hipbone, the smooth arch of his eyebrow.

It wasn’t until Harry started talking that Louis got really close. Up until that point, Harry had been relatively quiet in bed if you didn’t count grunts and moans as he worked, but several minutes in, he nibbled gently at the shell of Louis’s ear and mumbled, “God, you’re perfect.”

“Nggh,” Louis responded, screwing his eyes shut and kissing him with fervor. “ _Oh_ , Harry…”

“Louloulou,” Harry chanted in the breaks of their connected mouths, and he sped up. “You have no idea how much I’ve needed you—you and your braces and bowties and that fucking smile of yours—so beautiful—so _fucking_ —ah!”

A heat started to coil in the bit of Louis stomach, giving him an odd blurry feeling, and suddenly he was coming for the second time that night over his chest, and it pooled hot and sticky in the dip of his clavicle. He wasn’t even given a moment to come down from his post-orgasm high as Harry continued to pound desperately inside him, dying for relief and moaning brokenly when he found it, and he came inside Louis wet and quick.

The boys moaned in unison and rolled over; they collapsed onto the mattress facing each other, the sheets tangled and twisted at their ankles.

“I think this is what they call post-coital lethargy,” Harry mumbled softly. His hand went to push aside Louis’s fringe, and the feathery boy took it as invitation to settle himself in Harry’s arms. No one complained.

Eyes fluttering against Harry’s chest, Louis smiled up at the boy and asked dazedly, “When do you think the realization of what we’ve done will settle in?”

“Hopefully not until morning, because I could really use a proper night’s sleep for once, one without fantasies of my teachers or incessant banging from my neighbors, which in turn only creates _more_ fantasies.”

“Ah, so it worked,” Louis laughed, and Harry flicked his ear. “Cool it, princess. I could definitely use a night sleep as well. That was… _well_.”

“Oh, that’s just pillow talk, now isn’t it?” Harry yawned and snuggled closer. They sleepily pulled up the blankets from their feet and wrapped themselves tightly in its warmth, skin still sensitive and burning.

Eyes closed, Louis weakly shook his head. “No, I mean it. Wow, Harry Styles. For someone who can barely walk, you are quite coordinated in the sack.”

“And you’re definitely as loud as I pictured—or rather _heard_ from the last time you invited a ‘friend’ over.”

“Hush, that’s not important now,” Louis muttered, “Just kiss me, you fool.”

So Harry did. He kissed Louis slow and languidly, and it was careful with strange juxtaposition to their prior activities, and only reminded Louis that yes, he did just make what one could called passionate love with his first period English student, but he didn’t have to deal with that part until at least Monday. And in that moment it was only 3:41 a.m. on a Sunday. All he wanted in that moment was to be held and kissed, and so he was.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late again--it'll probably be a theme,considering I'm going to a one direction concert next week. (SO AMPED.)
> 
> basically, minor smut warnings. Crossdressing? Yeah, there's that, but nothing kinky or sexualized about it.
> 
> Thanks for reading/reviewing. I've never had reviews on a fic before this one. bless the one direction fandom, i tell you.
> 
> (PS- If you want updates on whether or not im about to update or if you just want to be a kind person and follow me--My twitter name is @electrifylouis and my tumblr is electrifylarry)

Louis woke up with no real understanding of where he was. The muted light of yet another day was seeping in through an obnoxiously bright window, and the unfamiliar sound of snoring was too close to be his imagination. Despite the irritation of the morning, he felt very comfortable pressed up against another warm body, and when he peeled open his eyes, he realized exactly what he’d done. The only thing he could muster in response, however, was a stifled groan of pain. He was unbelievably sore.

Next to him, eighteen-year-old Harry Styles was snoring into the crook of Louis’s neck, pink lips pressed softly to the column of his throat. Unlike in many books Louis had read, Harry did not look younger when he slept—he’d come to the conclusion over the years that no one did—kind of how in real life our catharsis isn’t in some breakdown in the middle of the rain on a deserted highway, as the media was convinced. He looked much older than in class, after shedding his clothes and beanies and unfashionably ripped jeans. Now, tattoos covered his body, twining over his arms, legs, and torso, and spindling across his clavicles. He looked like an adult, and that made Louis feel a little less guilty about what he’d just done, though he didn’t know for how long that would last.

Louis realized in his haste to do the Illegal Thing, he hadn’t even taken a look at Harry’s bedroom. It was much like the rest of Harry’s apartment. Shabby, cheap, and cluttered, covered in all different kinds of paraphernalia that could only be associated with teenagers. He wasn’t surprised to find more band posters for musicians he didn’t recognize and more collections of movies he’d never seen. If he didn’t know any better, he would assume Harry was a hoarder or simply had too much time on his hands.

Louis closed his eyes and breathed very deeply out of his nose. It didn’t calm him, so he snuggled underneath what looked like a hand-quilted tartan blanket and wrapped his short arms around the younger boy. He didn’t mean to wake Harry up, but within moments he felt a soft, hitching gasp against his throat and the flutter of eyelashes.

“Mmmmm,” Harry moaned and wriggled helplessly. However, he did not remove his face from Louis’s. “G’morning, sir.”

Louis shut his eyes and covered his face with a palm. “Don’t call me that. Makes me feel like a creep.”

“Why?” Harry complained teasingly. “It’s sexy.”

“It’s _so_ inappropriate.”

“No, what’s inappropriate is the way you screamed last night…”

Louis face turned four shades of scarlet. “You could call me a theatric.”

Harry laughed and rolled over so he was straddling Louis, leg on either side of his hips and head resting in the dip of his teacher’s chest. Louis ran a hand through the boy’s curly bed hair, and Harry gave what could almost be described as a _purr_.

“That wasn’t theatric,” Harry said with a smirk. “You couldn’t help yourself. I made you _scream_.”

“Feel good about yourself, don’t you?”

“A little,” Harry admitted ruefully. “I’d feel even better if you admitted you’d like to scream some more.”

“Listen—Harry—”

“ _No_ ,” Harry interrupted him, his voice surprisingly demanding, “don’t ‘Listen Harry’ me. You’re not going to tell me it was a mistake, or that you didn’t mean it, or that we can’t see each other again simply because you were desperate for money and took a dead end job that you don’t even _give a shit about_. Because I don’t know how you feel, but I sorta kinda _like_ you, and if you’re going to deny that for some stupid English class—well—then—” He shook his head, eyes shut tight. “Well then that might be the biggest mistake of your life.”

“How did you know what I was going to say?” Louis asked quietly.

“Because it’s so _typical_.”

“And here I thought I was the spontaneous and carefree one in our relationship,” Louis sighed, leaning back to stare at the ceiling. He felt Harry’s large hands crawl up his chest.

“Is that implying that there _is_ a relationship?”

“It’s awfully early in the morning for such a heavy question as that, don’t you think?”

Harry bit at the collar of Louis shirt “Just answer it, then.”

Louis wrinkled his nose and looked at Harry. He had awfully big eyes and big hair and big hands, yet in his arms he looked very small to Louis, and very very cute.

“How could I say no? If you want this, then so do I.” He smiled softly and tried to ignore the nagging voice in his head. He was more worried than he let on, that was for sure.

Harry gave a strange expression that looked like he was holding in a brilliant grin.

“Harry?”

“Yes, Boo?”

“B—Boo? No fucking way. Screw it—I’m topping next time.”

“Whatever you like,” Harry said contently, rubbing his cheek into Louis’s chest.

Louis laughed a bit too loudly. “You’re oddly affectionate after sex. Has anyone ever told you that?

“All the time,” Harry admitted. “I just can’t _help_ it. I mean, no matter whether I top or bottom, I just need someone to hold on to. And you’re _so_ soft and feathery and—” He sighed.

The sounds of their voices were barely heard over that of a door shutting in the other room. Harry jumped noticeably at the sound and sat up like a bullet, eyes wide. “Oh my God.”

“I thought you said you lived alone!” Louis hissed. He propped himself up on his elbows.

“Oh Jesus—Fuck—I _do_ , but Niall has a key, and it’s Sunday, so he’s probably bringing over breakfast, and…”

“Harry!” Louis scolded. “Off! Off! I need to hide—I can’t—he’s my student—”

Harry wrinkled his nose and whispered, “I’m your student as well!”

“Yeah, but I’m not _screwing_ Niall!”

“Thank goodness for that,” came a voice, and Louis looked up just in time to see the blond-haired Irish boy in the doorway, a glass pan in one hand and a redbull in the other. His eyes widened when he realized who, exactly, he was replying too.

Louis’s eyes widened too, but not for the same reason. In all his time as a teacher, Niall came to school in baggy sweatshirts and saggy jeans, never bothering with anything that would draw attention. The image of Niall in mundane, unflattering clothes was all he knew, _not_ Niall in short, flowy skirts and becoming sweaters or smooth legs. In front of him, Niall looked very _pretty_ , and very ashamed in his pink, pleated skirt that reached above the knee, but not so long as to show the curvature of his ass. He pulled, embarrassed, at the hem, dropping his redbull in the process.

“Oh—fuck.”

“Niall, it’s okay, just leave it. I’ll mop later,” Harry told him while shyly wrapping the sheets around him. He never had an issue with showing skin, but it didn’t seem appropriate then.

“It’s just—I’m not properly dressed—and—” Niall stumbled on his words as he spoke, and Louis had a difficult time deciphering them.

Harry crossed his arms. “Niall, _breathe_. Lou—Lou doesn’t care—”

In his state of shock, Louis had been playing it off as if he hadn’t noticed his student’s attire, but he felt right speaking up then. “’Course I don’t care. I can’t say you don’t look _very_ good.”

Harry slapped him hard. “Dick! I’m naked right next to you. Don’t go around calling other guys good looking.”

Niall’s face went redder and he hugged the tray closer to him. “I don’t do it at school—don’t think I could handle the guys-but—you know—thanks, I guess. I brought breakfast, though I don’t know how much will be available. I was only expecting two…”

“That’s alright, Ni,” Harry said, “we’ll be right out. Heat it up for us?”

Niall gave a lop-sided smile and closed the door behind him. Through the walls they could hear the sound of the microwave running and water turning on and off.

“Oh my god,” Louis moaned. “This whole weekend is just…”

Harry pushed off his teacher and untangled himself from the blankets. Without a word, he closed the door to the bathroom behind him, only to open it a moment later, peek his head out, and say lowly, “Care you join me?”

Louis wasn’t about to say no. The steam of the running shower hit him like a wave, but through it he could see the naked boy step behind the curtain. He followed suit after and felt himself harden by immediate response.

“Am I ever going to be able to look at you naked and not get horny?”

“Hopefully not,” Harry admitted, grabbing a fistful of Louis’s dripping hair and pulling him into a kiss.

The kiss was different from last night. There was no rush or desperation. Their lips moved slowly against each other, water trails falling in between from the shower head, and they gasped. Neither of the boys could open their eyes without getting water in them, but that didn’t matter. They paused for a moment, and Harry pulled back.

“Do you remember when you said you wanted to top?”

Louis’s mouth twitched, and he risked red eyes by opening them. “Now? Are you sure Niall won’t hear?”

“No—I mean—Can I suck you off? Until we’re alone?

No answer was really needed. The hot water combined with Harry’s mouth made Louis’s cock stand painfully pressed between their torsos. Harry lowered himself onto the slippery tile of the shower and took Louis’s cock with his hand, pumping before licking the under stripe vein in one deft movement and then bravely taking the rest.

“Ah!” Louis moaned, hoping that the sound of the shower blocked it out. (It didn’t.) He pushed forward into Harry’s mouth and heard the faint gag, feeling only somewhat guilty. “Sorry…”

Harry chuckled around Louis’s dick and then pulled back to say throatily, “It’s nothing I can’t handle. Fuck my face; I want to feel you.”

Louis didn’t need a second request. He took Harry by the flattened, wet fringe and thrusted faster. Louis was not as long as Harry, but he was thicker, and he could see as well as hear that the younger boy was struggling to take it all. Yet at the same time, he could hear moaning, vibrating up his shaft and pooling into the pit of his stomach. At first he didn’t dare look down for fear of losing himself completely, but when Harry reached forward to cup his balls, he knew he had to peek. Through the shower of water, he saw Harry with his eyes closed looking completely docile with his red lips around Louis’s cock. The peace on the younger boy’s face was too much—he honestly enjoyed giving head, pleasured by it yet his cock laid untouched, red, and impossibly hard.

“Oh God, baby…” Louis thrusted faster, panted harder, and gripped tighter. He could feel the tip of his dick touch the back of Harry’s throat in warm caverns, and he let out an embarrassingly girly moan before coming down the boy’s throat. “Harry…”

And the boy drank all of it, even as some dribbled down his chin and onto his chest, he swiped it with his finger and tasted it almost thoughtfully.

“Do you want me to…” Louis gestured towards Harry’s still aching erection.

Harry shook his head. “We’ve been in here too long already. Just—give me a hand?”

Louis nodded. He covered his right hand in body wash, lathering, before gripping Harry’s cock. Harry mewled, standing to bury his face into the crook of Louis’s neck. He bit softly at the skin there and whined, pushing farther into Louis’s palm.

“Shhh… Haz..” Louis said back soothingly, giving a particularly hard tug, and Harry let out a loud noise he was sure Niall heard. He leaned his head back, worrying his bottom lip before tensing and then coming in thick, white ropes into Louis’s hand.

They washed quickly and quietly, sharing giggles, and dried off with a big towel. They’d been away for nearly fifteen minutes, and whatever Niall had cooked them was probably waiting cold on the counter. Harry slipped on a pair of boxers and deemed that appropriate before walking out into the kitchen, but Louis, who was still aware that Niall was a student despite all of their recent events, slipped on one of Harry’s unfamiliar band shirts as well. His own clothes was laying strewn across the living room.

Harry was hunched over a plate of eggs and bacon, peeling apart a bagel with his long fingers, and Niall was scraping down a plate of the same. “Took you long enough,” the blond said, “I had to heat up the plate _a second time_.”

“My sincerest apologies,” Louis said in a funny voice. “Oh fucking hell, that looks delicious.”

“I know. It is,” Niall told him. He had put on a sweatshirt over his sweater, probably still embarrassed even though Louis had tried to reassure him, however the skirt was still clearly visible underneath. Louis figured it was a work in progress. He would find a way to get Niall to trust him eventually, and to be comfortable wearing whatever made him feel confident. “Do you think you guys wanna go to that Block Party today? The whole square is filled with street musicians and balloons and hot dog stands.”

“Isn’t that the place Stevie the Clown broke the L-1 of his spine doing a back flip?”

Niall waved a hand and leaned against the back counter. He had a very friendly air when he wasn’t in school, one that made his face shine and his cheeks rosy. He looked like someone who was genuinely interesting to be around, whether it was to pick out clothes or to grab a pint at a downtown pub. “That was last year. He’s almost done recovering. Trust me. No ambulances this time.”

Harry looked up to Louis and the corner of his mouth quirked in a somewhat Kermit-The-Frog way. “Well, if you say so…”

\--

Harry had chosen a ridiculous hat. Louis thought it looked rather dashing, the fedora, though Niall teased him relentlessly as they hailed a cabbie. His long, skinny legs were clad in dark jeans, and he’d chosen a blue sweater for the festivities. Louis had the opportunity to run to his own apartment and get clothes, but he failed to acknowledge this for the opportunity to shrug into Harry’s sweaters as well. They were too big for him; he rolled up the sleeves several times along with the jeans, which were too long, but he felt comfortably snug inside them. The fact that they also smelled like Harry was a silent plus.

(“You look really good in those jeans,” Harry commented from behind him.

Louis turned around and cocked his hip. “My _ass_ is amazing in these jeans and no one can deny it. I don’t care what you say—I’m stealing them.)

Autumn was on the eve of winter that day as they entered the Block Party. The leaves on the trees turned golden, bronze, and red, and fell to the grown like broken pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, matted to the sidewalk floor and covered in rain from previous nights. They stepped over them as the distant music came into earshot. They could hear several voices, some singing, some laughing, and some talking. The scene in front of them was nothing new—London had Block Parties every so often and they were usually crowded with people.

“Do you think anyone from school will be here?” Niall asked nervously. He tugged harder at his skirt.

“None of the guys, of course,” Harry said. “There’s a footy game today, remember? It’ll all people from the other schools.”

Niall must have liked this, because he gave a smile and said, “Whoa, that guys a really good singer!”

He pointed ahead where a red-headed man was strumming a guitar peacefully, and a decent sized crowd of people were gathered around him. The words he sung were melancholy and poetic, the kind of lyrics that would have stuck in his head all day. When they got to the man, Louis threw a twenty dollar bill into the open guitar case and the man—Ed Sheeran the sign in front said—winked back at him. He felt Harry’s grip on his waist tighten in response.

“ _It’s too cold outside for angels to fly, to fly, to fly, to fly, for angels to die…_ ”

As the song came to a close, a knot of teenage girls beside them giggled and dashed off, the skirts of their uniforms billowing behind them.

“You were really, really good!” Niall told Ed enthusiastically. “Do you have an album out or something?”

Ed took the guitar off of his hip, placed it over the money in his case, and snapped the locks shut. “Yeah,” he said wearily. He had heaviness to his voice that didn’t appear when he was singing. Louis could see the colorful sleeves of tattoos that adorned his arms, a bright saturation along with his hair, and like Harry’s they didn’t look like they made much sense. He saw puzzle pieces, autumn leaves, and something that looked like the twining branches of a tree. “The name is a plus sign. Like, legitimately, just a plus symbol.”

“How did you come up with that?” Harry asked.

Ed rubbed the back of his neck and looked up at them. “I needed to add a little something to my life. Life support or life goals or maybe just songs about life. I don’t know; it just felt right. What’re yer names?”

“Niall,” the boy said in a friendly voice that made Harry chuckle in response.

“Harry.”

“Louis.”

“Well, Niall, Harry, and Louis. I’m playing tonight at that pub around the corner. I could get you guys in for free if you want. Frankly I’d like knowing that I’d have _someone_ show up to my gig, even if it meant that you didn’t pay. I practically begged for the manager to let me come in.”

The boys agreed heartily, and Ed, with one final wave and smile, gave them the address, took his case, and left the square.

“God, what I wouldn’t do to be able to sing like _that_ ,” Harry said dreamily. “Can you imagine? Singing on the streets must be amazing when you’re as good as him, with all the people surrounding you.”

“You could do that, you know,” Louis told him. “I’d watch you, if no one else.”

Harry snorted. “Reassuring.” Seeing Louis’s pout though, he added, “But thank you.”

“That’s adorable,” Niall said, in a sarcastic tone that showed he didn’t find it adorable at all, but his smile suggested it to be free-spirited. “C’mon, boys, I think Harry should bake us a cupcake, no?”

\--

They lead each other to the bakery, where Harry was greeted with warm welcomes. There was a girl with long, tumbling brown hair behind the counter reading an article from GirlCode Magazine.

“Hey, El,” Harry said casually, “are there any crumble cakes left from the other day?”

The girl looked up and smiled brightly, flicking a piece of hair behind her ear. Her bright orange bakery apron was blinding Louis, but she pulled it off somehow. “No, they sold like crazy the other day. They were gone within an hour.” Seeing the disappointed look on Harry’s face, she added, “Hold on, let me check again.” She disappeared out the door to the kitchen and entered back again with a plate of four cakes. “Don’t tell Damn Coach, but I saved a few to bring home for my family. But hey—you can have them. You made them, didn’t you?”

Harry rocketed forward and grabbed the plate, handing one back to her with a smile. “Thanks El, I’ll make a whole batch for your family tomorrow, promise.”

The crumble cakes were, undoubtedly, the best thing Louis had ever tasted, and just like Harry mentioned earlier, the perfect amount of crumbly. He moaned as he took another bite, insisting Harry had to cook and bake for him for the rest of their lives. “I wouldn’t mind,” the boy responded with a content expression. Louis ran a hand through Harry’s curls in response.

They wandered the streets for the rest of the day. Niall stopped several times to pet passersby’s dogs and chat up people he didn’t know.

“He likes dogs, doesn’t he?” Louis asked. “The sweet mate.”

“Niall? Niall likes everyone and everything, dogs included. He’s just a good guy to be around. That’s why he was the first friend I made here. I mean—look at him. He’s not completely guileless, but he doesn’t judge people. He makes others happy without realizing it. That’s what I love about him.”

Louis leaned in and pressed their foreheads together. They sat together on a bench while Niall petted an old, aging beagle, and the sky was a melted color of grey, blue, and purple, suggesting future rain showers. “You have that same effect, you know.”

“Untrue!”

“Too true! Look at you. Sometimes you’re such a dork, and then the next minute you’re mouthing off, and it’s always a pleasure, ‘innit?”

“ _Well_.”

“You know I’m right,” Louis mumbled. ‘You’ll soon learn I always am.”

He leaned forward and kissed Harry slowly, like their shower kiss earlier that day, and he didn’t care who saw it.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short, but important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WENT TO THE CONCERT IN MANSFIELD LAST NIGHT. It was so brilliant. 5SOS couldn't pronounce Massachusetts, so they called us mashed potatoes. There was Larry moments. I met Larry shippers. 
> 
> I think the funniest part of it all was that the boys (Niall especially) kept making fun of Boston accents and calling us Boston ("Goodnight Boston", "Let's hear it, Boston!"), even though we were about two hours away from Boston. (We tried to tell them we were in Mansfield, but I don't think they caught on, those cuties.)
> 
> It was a long drive home, so I wrote this chapter during it. It's important, albeit a bit short. Summer now, so I can write more often. Thanks again for those who comment. read, and kudos, etc. 
> 
> Don't hate me for the cliff hanger.
> 
> (Check for updates on my twitter @electrifylouis or my ask.fm @boyfriendstagram or my tumblr electrifylarry.)
> 
> xx

They got to the pub by eight o’clock and were let into the show without any hassle. Ed was up on stage, tuning his guitar and plucking strings idly, his bright orange-red hair glowing in the fluorescents. That sound mixed with the din of people talking, chinking glasses, and occasionally laughing a little too hard. Louis had always liked pubs and bars. He thought he would be able to own one someday, had he not already gone down the education path. However, it did work out somehow, he thought, sneaking a glance at the curly-haired boy. He was absolutely radiant under those lights, dimple prominent as he smiled.

Not long later, Ed’s calming voice came from hidden speakers, and he started to play a sweet, old song, and the lyrics sounded awfully familiar. He realized halfway through that this was not one of _Ed’s_ songs, but that the ginger changed the original melody of the traditional folk song, making it sound almost like a lullaby.

“ _The Parting Glass_ ,” Niall said suddenly. “My granddad’s favorite Irish drinking song. Of _course_ , Ed could take any old _drinking_ song, and make it sound beautiful. He’s got good taste. I remember it being sung by _The Clancy Brothers._ ”

“I’ve heard this before as well,” Harry piped. “I think _The High Kings_ have just done a cover.”

“Well the man’s right on time, no? It sounds bloody beautiful.” Louis took a swig of his beer, feeling soothingly buzzed. When the song finished, people clapped for him and Ed started to sing another song, this time called _Give Me Love_ of his own creation.

“Mmmm, baby give me love,” Harry laughed knocking back a shot and smiling at Louis.

“Don’t get too hammered, Haz. I’m not holding you hair back in the morning. We have _class_.”

“Boo,” Harry complained. “Down with school. You should feel flattered I come to English as often as I do—you know I don’t _have to_ , technically, with my zero adult supervision around.”

“Liar. _I’m_ your adult supervision. And If I don’t see you in class, I’ll pester you until you come.”

“Until I come?” Harry cocked an eyebrow.

Louis rolled his eyes. “Cheeky.”

“You should really hear _Harry_ sing,” Niall said over the music. His cheeks were flushed bright red, skirt hiked up somewhat, and the strap of his camisole was sliding down his shoulder. “It’s perfect. He sang _Isn’t She Lovely_ for my brother’s wedding reception, and I _swear to god_ …” He trailed off, taking another beer.

“Why haven’t you sung for me?” Louis asked, a little peeved that most everyone knew about Harry’s not-so-hidden talents but him.

“I’ll sing for you when we’re alone—but you know what? I would love to be Ed right now. It’s so hard to get gigs nowadays, and Niall’s brother’s wedding was probably my biggest one. I had people coming up to me, asking my name, telling me I’ll go far—I was even paid nearly triple what I earn in three months at the bakery. I immediately send off my rent and then took the rest and went to the bar. _That_ was a great night.” Harry circled the edge of his glass with his pinky finger, moving in slow, smooth half-crescents. The lights brought out the blotches of color in his cheeks, the sweat on his forehead and nose, and his too-big smile. Louis couldn’t stop staring.

“For someone who is seemingly so tight for money, you sure do spend a lot of time buying liquor and records.”

“I manage,” Harry told him simply, and he didn’t elaborate.

They bought a few more drinks, but stopped before they lost the feeling in their legs. The three of them thanked Ed and exchanged phone numbers briefly before stumbling home. Niall started singing something unintelligible into the night air, his small flats resonating tiny clicking noises against the cobblestone streets, and the Irish brogue and intoxication made it impossible to distinguish the words of his song. So Louis and Harry strolled behind him, watching the way he raised his arms in the air and spun, and the boys huddled together under their long, flowing coats against the rain.

In the hallway of their complex, Harry took Niall by the waist and brought him inside his flat. He left him in the bed and came back out to kiss Louis goodnight.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Haz,” Louis said, “get a good night’s rest, because I’m pretty sure I assigned a pop quiz for the morning.” He patted Harry on the bum and sent him away.

Harry groaned. “That’s really cruel, Lou, you know that.” He leaned forward for one more peck and mumbled, “I’ll take care of Niall. Go let your roommates know you’re still alive. I—g’night, Lou.”

It was one of those awkward moments where neither of them knew what to say, because surely you weren’t supposed to say _I love you_ to someone you barely knew as a parting. Louis told him to sleep well and backed away into his flat while trying to make his face look passive and indifferent.

Zayn noticed him first. “Mate, your face looks like you’re passing a kidney stone.”

Louis shut the door with a _click_ , and mumbled, “I really like Harry, Zany. This is bad but also good, and I don’t know what that means.”

Upon hearing the door close, Liam, near completely naked and cross, came into the kitchen and pointed at the young teacher. “Where the hell have you been? I called you, what, thirty times? We haven’t seen you since _Friday_ , and it’s Sunday _night_! I thought you might have died!”

Louis couldn’t help it—he giggled. It wasn’t his fault really; he couldn’t pay attention to what his roommate was saying. He just felt this weird blurry feeling come from the pit of his stomach, almost like doom but entirely too pleasurable to be bad. So he giggled and clutched at his bag, leaning back against the counter. “Liam, I think I’m falling in love!”

Liam turned to Zayn. “Is he drunk?”

“Slightly,” Zayn admitted. “By the looks of it. He’s got a bar stamp on his hand. But I don’t think his declarations are entirely due to the alcohol. He had been with _Harry_ all this time.” He smiled flirtatiously.

“Harry? Harry who?”

“The student I had been pushing him to sleep with. Now he’s plastered and admitting to being in love.”

“Not _being in love_ ,” Louis interjected. He slid down onto the tiled kitchen floor, spreading his legs, and his eyes shut peacefully. “ _Falling in love._ I’m not there yet, but soon enough. You should have seen him, and his cheeks, and his teeth, and did you know he can _sing_? I mean, I should have figured, given how much music he listens to. I haven’t even heard him yet, but I know it’ll be beautiful. _God_.”

“He’s completely shitfaced,” Liam said to Zayn, arms crossed. “Do you think you can carry him to bed?”

“Why do you lot talk about me like I’m not here? S’not like I can’t hear you. I can bring myself. Li, be a good lad and run me a bath?”

Liam pursed his lips and sighed, obliging, and despite Lou’s words, Zayn helped him up and brought his to the bathroom.

“So you think you’re in love, eh?” Zayn asked as he helped rid Louis of his clothes. He seemed incapable of doing it himself.

“ _Falling_ , Zany, _falling_. I love him, but I haven’t known him long enough to be _in love_ with him. You know?”

“I think so,” Zayn admitted. He looked tired, but happy, making sure the water was cool enough. Once Louis was in, he tried to leave, but Louis cried out in and asked him to stay and chat for a while. “Do you really get lonely so easily?”

“I’m pissed and lovesick, Zayn, you’re supposed to nurture me.”

Zayn sat down on the closed toilet seat. “Well alright, but I’m not helping you bathe—that’s where I cross the line.”

“No promises.” Louis smiled back at him. “Oh fuck, I have to see him in class tomorrow.”

“What happened with that boy, then? Why haven’t I met him?”

Louis sunk down into the water. In the bath, it went all the way up his neck, and was just warm enough to tingle his skin. He popped a bubble on top of the water childishly. “I dunno… I just… don’t say anything to anyone, but we slept together okay? An’ I get that it’s wrong and stuff, because he’s my student and I’m supposed to protect him an’ everything, but… even though I’m not in love with him, obviously, I can _see_ myself in love with him. And I _want_ to be in love with him. I can’t wait until I am. But that’s also sad, because it’s going to be a long time until graduation.”

“I knew you would like him,” Zayn said smugly. “Look at you, you’re infatuated.”

“It was a shot in the dark,” Lou told him teasingly, but then Liam opened the door with a towel in hand, and his thoughts spilled elsewhere. The best-roommates-in-the-world-he’d-have-to-thank-later helped him into his bed and set his alarm for six the next morning. He knew he was in for a rough day tomorrow, but regardless of the future, he couldn’t help but think of the days he’d just spent with Harry and Niall, and he swore the tingling in his heart would never leave.

\--

He woke up the next morning with a pounding in his skull and four aspirins on his beside table. Next to them were a glass of water and a note from Liam and Zayn saying to ‘take it easy,’ whatever that meant. He dressed slowly because his bones hurt, in a plain outfit of jeans and a button down. He didn’t have the energy to be fashionable in his state.

Louis didn’t see Harry walking out of his apartment or on his way to school—it made his worried and angry at the same time, knowing that Harry was either sleeping in or blowing off class entirely. However, when he got to his classroom (trying too hard not to wince when the door slammed loudly shut behind him), he saw that Harry was sitting in his usual seat next to Niall, waiting with the rest of his students.

He moved slowly around, hoping they wouldn’t notice his red-rimmed eyes and still-sore bottom. He could still feel Harry inside of him, and it was not a good combination with his hangover. A few students giggled.

“Err, good morning, class. I hope you all had very nice weekends…” He trailed off, blinking, and a deep voice piped up.

“You okay there, Mr. Tomlinson?” Harry asked, his grin obvious and infuriatingly sexy. It occurred to Louis that instead of being hungover like him, Harry was probably still somewhat drunk. That lucky bastard.

“Wonderful!” Louis lied, grinning back at the boy through his headache. “And you?”

“Absolutely lovely.”

More students chuckled.

Louis gave an amused expression and looked away from Harry’s chest. The boy was wearing clothes he’d never seen before—tight black jeans and a white scoop-neck that showed off the bird tattoos on his collar bones. Dog tags hung loosely and tangled on his neck. He knew Harry very well—the boy stood usually with his legs close together, arms tucked in, but it was as if the boy was trying to tempt him in a moment of weakness. He sat in his chair with his legs spread far apart, which was wide considering how long they were. Harry was slouchy and disheveled and absolutely ravishable, and Louis had never wanted to fuck anyone more.

Louis spun his chair around and focused his eyes out the window behind his desk. He spoke with his eyes trained on the forest of trees outside. “Take out _The Great Gatsby_ , and read the next four chapters.  When you’re done with that, there’s a stack of quizzes on my desk. Come up and take one and hand it in by the end of class. I don’t want to hear any sound of talking or cell phones, or you’ll take a zero. Begin.”

He stayed like that for the next twenty minutes before he started to hear students getting up for quizzes behind him. He didn’t think he needed to turn around until he felt a tap on his shoulder. Louis crossed his legs tightly and spun to find Harry’s face hovering over him, lips bright red and cheeks appropriately flushed. A completed quiz was in his hands. “Would you like this Mr. Tomlinson?” he whispered quietly.

Louis snatched the paper and bit his lip. He ground out a “see me after class.” It was bad enough that he had to discretely adjust his cock through his pants.

“Yes, sir,” Harry told him, before swaying his hips all the way back to his seat. Louis rolled his eyes but looked away just the same.

When the bell rang and his students started to teem the hallways, Harry whispered something into Niall’s ear, and he shut the door (pointedly locking it) before straying over to the front of the room.

“Still hungover, Mr. Tomlinson?”

“Still drunk, Styles?”

“How long until your next class?”

Louis checked the clock. “Nine minutes. Think you can spare me a kiss?”

“I can spare you more than that,” Harry growled as he took Louis by the collar. He climbed into his teacher’s lap, denim of their jeans stretching and chaffing. Harry was grinding down on the older boy, and tiny whimpers came from the back of his throat.

“Don’t start anything you can’t finish,” Louis reprimanded, “We only have two more minutes…” He could hear students starting to pool out in front of the door, but none of them had tried to come in yet.

“Are you coming over tonight?” Harry whispered.

“If you want me to.”

Harry insisted, “I do!”

“Then I will. Now go unlock the door and get to class, before I tell the headmaster.”

Harry stuck out his tongue, and stepped back. The both had uncomfortable bulges in their jeans, but it didn’t matter at that point. They spent the rest of the day grinning and grinding, winking to each other in the halls and giving unnoticed hand gestures when they saw one another.

By Louis’s last period, his arousal had left him, but he was certainly deflated. As he packed up his briefcase with quizzes, the door opened. A stout man with no hair, and cherubic, red face came in. Louis had only seen the headmaster once or twice for interviews, and as far as he knew, the man never came in for personal visits. He had a displeased look on his face that made Louis stop collecting worksheets and pause, his heart falling into his stomach.

Louis swore.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, commenting, and giving me kudos on the last chapter. It was very much appreciated. xx :) I'd love for that to continue on this one, haha.

The headmaster’s office was small and cramped on the other side of the school. The walls were plastered with bright, obnoxious self-esteem and virtue posters, things that read “responsibility” and “individuality” with associating pictures. They hit Louis in the gut with guilt in knowing what he’d done. His stomach dropped when the headmaster knocked on his door, and since he’d been contemplating his chances of getting arrested. The odds were not in his favor.

Headmaster Graham sat down onto his chair with a soft grunt. It made him look even smaller, though it did not take away from the intimidation.

“Mr. Tomlinson, I must say, I have had many compliments on your skills.”

Louis breathed out and rubbed his sweaty palms on his jean-clad thighs. “Why—thank you, sir. It’s been really great working here.”

He wondered if that sounded like he was kissing ass, but didn’t care. He needed to kiss ass at that point. He would kiss anyone’s ass if it meant saving his job and not going to jail.

“And it has come to my attention that you’ve gotten particularly close to one Harry Styles? I got a call that the two of you were spotted in the square this past weekend, yes?”

Louis bit his lower lip. _To lie or not to lie?_ It would have been much worse if he got caught in one. He wasn’t going to stop seeing the boy, that was for sure—he wasn’t even sure if that was possible, given their living arrangements. He decided to play it safe.

“I happened to cross by him the day of the Block Party. Him and his little friend Neil—no Niall was his name—were there. I had taken up a little bit of mentoring to the boy.”

Headmaster Graham looked down and quirked an eyebrow. He looked very intently at his laced hands. Louis did as well. “As you know, Mr. Tomlinson, this school as well as many others has a no-contact policy on student-teacher friendships.”

“I assure you, Headmaster, it’s strictly a mentoring relationship. He—he revealed once in conversation that he’s been a bit lost and high strung, especially with schoolwork, ever since he’s moved here. He’s all alone, and doesn’t have any family with him to keep him company, and I don’t think he’s got anyone to guide him…”

Graham seemed to get interested in this. “He’s got no one living with him? How old is he?”

Louis pretended to think for a moment. “I—I think he’s eighteen. I don’t think he’d be able to get a place to himself another way. I assure you, he’s in need of an older male role model. I thought it might be easier for him to relate to me rather than, say, Mr. Williams, who’s forty with three kids. You know. I’m younger. I think he’d feel less intimidated talking to me rather than to a man who feels like he’s analyzing him.”

The man’s handlebar mustache twitched slightly on his lip. “Louis—can I call you that?—I understand where you’re coming from, I do. Sometimes students can get into your personal lives. We run into each other on the streets—I get it. I ran into Ashley Carlisle last week at the library. It happens. It always will. We as teachers go into our professions with a single similarity and that is to educate young minds to better our future. Understand? We want to help the little people. You were a little person not too long ago, which was one reason I found you entirely too appealing for our English teacher.

“When you asked to be a Drama teacher, and I denied, I could tell you were angry and resentful, and it was almost childish. Because even though you are no longer a teenager, I could tell you were still holding on to some part of your childhood. And sure, for a twenty-one year old, you’re pretty mature, and a natural leader. I respect that in you, Louis. But the thing about children is that they believe that they can help everyone and save the world and still make it home for dinner, when in actuality they have no idea some of the limits that are put on them. I don’t believe you are looking at your options and your abilities in the right way. You’re overestimating yourself. And for someone who is already involved in three classes, probably battling student loans, and trying to balance a social life and fiscal responsibility, mentoring a kid with no experience in any sort of psychology or sociology doesn’t seem like the best idea, right?

“I will look into the Harry Styles. He’s new, and we have programs to help the kids who are living alone. Harry is not the first student here to have their own apartment or live far away from their support systems. While I see where you were going with this whole age-bonding thing, I think for a case like this, someone with a bit more maturity and well, experience in this field would be necessary. However, I do believe you when you tell me this interaction was all innocent. You seem like a very nice man, Louis Tomlinson. I will leave you with a warning. Leave the mentoring to us, and please try not to ‘hang out’ with your students outside of the school system. I fear that the kids will take advantage of your age and think of you more as a friend or ‘bro’, shall we say, than a person of authority. Trust me, Louis. I’m looking out for you. You want to be respected and listened to. If your students think of you more as a friend than a teacher, then you will not get much done in class.”

Louis sat motionless in his chair. Before the speech he had been fighting, fighting the urge to scream. Now, Louis was fighting the urge to cry. He felt his eyes sting. Childish? He was _not_ childish. He wasn’t hurting anyone. To think that Graham assumes Louis would—what— _mes_ s _up_ Harry?

Louis was brought back to the headmaster’s attention with one single nod, and he rushed out of the room. He bunched up his bag into his hands to keep them from shaking. The hallways were empty now; it felt wrong walking down them without the familiar thrumming of students’ feet. In the silence he could hear his heavy breathing more clearly, and he started to hiccup softly all the way to his car. When he got to it, he sat down and stared out the windshield. The parking lot was completely empty spare for a few cars on the opposite side of the lot. Surely no one could see him cry.

He searched quickly for a CD, found an old mixtape, and pushed it a bit too roughly. The sultry sounds of Led Zeppelin blurred out his wracking sobs. Louis wasn’t usually emotional. He tended to bottle things in his heart and internalize them, but there was something about the way the headmaster worded his speech. It wasn’t aimed like an attack, but it felt that way, like he was going to poison the boy if he stayed any longer. He didn’t want to believe he was so harmful to Harry. He didn’t want to believe he was immature and resentful and incapable of controlling himself, unable to be respected. He just wasn’t that. Graham was wrong. He wasn’t _bad_ for Harry, no matter what he did.

He didn’t cry for long. It wasn’t so much crying as it was shaking, but once he was done, he tried to contain himself, lowered the volume of his stereo, and he pulled out of the school zone.

\--

As he opened the door to his flat, he wasn’t prepared for the scene in front of him. For the most part, it looked like it always did. Half-naked Liam and Zayn sprawled on the couch, watching crap telly and drinking cheap beer. However, there was an addition.

How comfortably Harry fit into his surroundings made his stomach turn. The boy looked like he _belonged_ there, like he’d stayed over copious amounts of times. He was wearing joggers and an old flannel, his shoes kicked off to reveal dirty socks. He was curled so lazily on Louis’s favorite armchair, Louis almost didn’t want to disturb him. But when the door slammed behind him, alerting all of the others of his presence, Harry perked and sat up, searching for him.

“Lou!” Harry smiled, getting up to hug him.

Louis struggled to keep his voice level and hoped that his catharsis wasn’t entirely visible. “What are you doing here?”

Harry’s arms wrapped around Louis in familiar ways. The curly-haired boy’s face relaxed into the juncture of his neck and breathed in the scent there. “I came over to see if you were home, but Liam said you hadn’t gotten back yet. They offered me a beer, so of course I couldn’t deny. Your couch is very persuading as well.”

“Hope you don’t mind, mate,” Zayn called from the couch. He and Liam were in such a tangle of limbs, it was hard to determine whose body part was whose. “We got acquainted in your absence. You should have gotten home earlier. You missed the strip poker and lap dances.”

“He’s lying,” Harry said, tugging at Louis’s collar. “We just had a chat.”

“Everything alright?”

“’Course,” Harry told him. “And with you? You were gone awfully long. Niall said he spotted you and the headmaster walking together…”

Louis swallowed. He shook his head. “Come to my room.”

They shut the door behind them, and Harry settled himself comfortably on the bed, again like he’d been there a thousand times. Louis thought he looked rather perfect, swaddled in the duvet and blankets with his hair spilling out against the white pillows.

“Someone… Someone must have seen us at the Block Party. The Headmaster called to consult me about our relationship, and whether it was… more than an average student and pupil.”

Harry went quiet. He didn’t look and Louis, and he didn’t look at anything else in particular. He seemed to be focusing out into space.

Louis leaned against the door and took Harry’s silence as a prompt to go on. “I told him that it was nothing more than an older brother relationship, like a mentor, and that I was helping you adjust to London since you’re new here. He gave me this gaudy speech that I didn’t really listen to about how I was too immature and too childish to be interacting with a student I didn’t know how to handle, and that if I continued to do so, my students wouldn’t look at me like a figure of authority anymore due to my age.”

Harry looked up then. “But you don’t give a shit about them, right? Tell me you don’t give a fuck about standards and rules and regulations. I _know you_. I know that this whole teacher bravado is nothing more than a façade. Because anyone who gave a flying fuck about the education system or conforming to the rules wouldn’t sleep with their students or take them out to bars or give blowjobs in the shower. You’re secretly wishing to let it all go and not care, aren’t you?”

Louis put his head in his hands. He knew what he should have done. Looking back on it, though, he made the better choice. “I wish I could say you were wrong, but… I just don’t think I can.”

\--

If anything, their relationship was bettered by the headmaster’s interference. Every night they snuck around, sleeping in either Louis’s flat or Harry’s (usually the latter), and they laid awake at night with heavy limbs and fluttering breaths. For the next two months or so, they had resolved their relationship down to that, and it became exciting and romantic and everything Louis had dreamed about as a child when he secretly watched those Lifetime movies with his mother. He never had to worry about being caught in public, because they couldn’t go out together. That didn’t bother them, though. The schoolwork had caught up with them, and the idea of lying together on a couch in their flat, reading textbooks and grading papers in holey sweaters became comforting and fun.

“It’s like _Dirty Dancing_ ,” Louis said. “I’m Johnny and you’re Baby, and our love is so magical and forbidden and sexy that outside forces are trying to keep us apart.”

Harry laughed and kicked Louis’s legs across the couch. The calculus book in his hand flipped closed and tumbled to the ground. “Why do you get to be Johnny? Why am I Baby? It is because of how amazing my body is?”

“No, it’s because of amazing your hair is. But I like to think your body is a close second. Besides, I’m clearly Patrick Swayze.”

Harry snorted.

“What?” Louis said, affronted. He capped the end of his highlighter and threw a pillow at the younger boy. “Are you saying I'm not romantic and loveable and every girl’s teenage heartthrob?”

Harry gave one of his famous Kermit-the-Frog smiles and shrugged indifferently. “I don’t know about every girl’s teenage heartthrob, but you are _my_ heartthrob. Though I prefer to think of our situation more like Troy and Gabriella’s.”

Louis moaned. “You did not just say our life is _High School Musical_.”

“’Course not,” Harry said, “It’s _like_ _High School Musical_. You know. It’s got the whole outer forces keeping us apart, the great hair on my part, _plus_ there’s the school system involved, high school irresponsibility at its finest. And I get to sing a lot. C’mon Lou, _we’re sooooooaring! Flyyyyyyying!_ ”

Louis lunged forward to place a hand over Harry’s mouth, and Harry diverted so that his mouth landed somewhere else. “Just kiss me,” Harry said, and Louis was brought inexplicably back to their first right on that couch, surrounded by dusty vinyls and blank CDs and night air.

It was a slow kiss, but not a sad one. Harry’s mouth was patient and soft, and his lips were plump. They could lay like that for hours—they had before as well, stayed up nearly all night simply kissing and nothing more. Though, Louis would be lying if he said he didn’t think constantly of kissing Harry, touching Harry, running his hands through his silky mess of curls…

Just as Louis was starting to get into it, rocking against Harry and pulling at his hair, Harry pulled back. “Lou.”

Louis moaned and tugged affectionately. “ _Whaaaaaat?_ ”

“You’re getting a Skype call.”

Louis shot up and looked around to the open laptop on the coffee table. “Shit, it’s Lottie. _Shit_.”

Harry kissed Louis’s forehead. “You answer it. I’ll make you a cuppa, babe.”

Harry got up from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen. Louis went to answer the call, but it ended because he took too long trying to normalize himself. He called her back and waited for it to pick up.

The pixilated face of his little sister started to slowly materialize onto the screen. He was slightly taken about by her. He’d been gone for too long. Lottie’s features were more defined than before. He remembered her as a little girl, Popsicle stain on her lips and hair in messy braids. Now, she curled a piece of flat-ironed hair around a varnished finger. He could see the kohl lining her eyes and the red rouge on her cheeks, and he knew that before his eyes Lottie had grown up into a young woman. He couldn’t put into words how this made him feel, but he pretended not to notice.

“Lottie, what a surprise,” he said, trying to make it sound like he wasn’t peeved at her interruption. He did miss the girls. He’d been sending money back to his mother every month and kept just enough for what he needed to live. They had to start saving for the twin’s Uni fund.

“Hello,” she said, eyes crinkling as she smiled. “Mum told me to call you and see what was up. I think she has a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?”

Lottie shrugged. In the background, Louis could see her room was decorated with different posters of popstars and actresses. He could have sworn he saw the corner of Patrick Swayze’s face, but he decided not to pursue it. Through the camera, the door opened and the high pitched sounds of Daisy and Phoebe sounded, followed by the more annoyed voice of Fizzy.

“Louis!” Phoebe cried. Her face was too close to the screen, and she kept grabbing at it, making the computer shake but she smiled anyway.

“Hey Phoebe! Have you seen Mum? I heard she has a little something for me.”

Phoebe sat back on her legs and giggled into her hand. “We have a surprise, but we’re _not allowed to tell you_ , okay?”

“I can keep a secret,” Louis said, grinning back at her.

Phoebe looked like she was considering it, and Louis almost assumed he’d won before Lottie took the computer away again. “You’re not getting away that easy. Mum just told me to tell you we had something special planned. So… look out for any surprise things coming your way okay?”

“You mean like a package?”

“Sure,” Lottie said and smiled. “For your birthday, I guess you could say. She also mentioned…”

“She mentioned a _boyfriend_ ,” Daisy interjected, exasperated. “Why didn’t you _tell us_?”

Louis pulled back and covered his mouth with his hand, hiding his face. “Mum _told you that_?”

“She only told us a little bit,” Lottie said defensively. “She told us his name was Harry, and he was pretty, and that you were really getting on. Do you plead innocent or guilty?”

Louis sighed. “Guilty as charged. Do you want to meet him?”

The girls huddled together on Lottie’s bed and nodded excitedly.

“Hold on then,” Louis said. “Harry!”

The boy came into the kitchen with two tea cups. His sweater was an ugly pattern and his joggers were too short for him, but he looked so endearing Louis felt it was an acceptable enough appearance for his sisters. He waved him over and handed him the computer, and he heard the girls laugh and giggle at the new boy in front of them. After their earlier escapades, Harry’s curly fringe corkscrewed directly out of his forehead, and Louis liked it so much he didn’t bother to smooth it back.

He sat and watched as Harry talked to them, as Daisy showed him her collection of portrait drawings. Harry complimented her on all of them, especially pointing out her excellent handiwork with drawing Louis’s hair in the feathery side-fringe quality, and Louis flicked his ear when he did. When they were done, the girls said goodbye and blew the boys kisses, and then they shut down the call.

“They’re lovely,” Harry said, sipping his tea. “Just like you.”

“You’re too sweet,” Louis said sarcastically, taking the computer away so he could place his head in Harry’s lap instead. Harry combed his fingers through Louis’s hair casually.

“Did she say your birthday was coming up?” Harry asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Louis shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does!” Harry sighed. “I need to get you something. Not to mention we have to have a party.”

“No,” Louis deadpanned. “No party. I don’t need one. Just a waste of money, and neither of us have any of that to spare.”

“I think for such a special occasion we can scrape some together,” Harry protested. Louis just shook his head. “Hush, Louis, just you wait. I’ll make sure your birthday is perfect. I’ll even bake a cake specifically for you.”

“Just don’t shape it like your penis,” Louis teased, and Harry laughed in response.

“You’d probably like it more if I did.”


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting, as well as the kudos :)  
> Warnings include solo smut, secondhand embarrassment, spoilers for the endings to literary classics... the usual things like that.
> 
> twitter: electrifylouis  
> tumblr: electrifylarry  
> wattpad: reemus  
> ask.fm: boyfriendstagram

Harry’s fingers traced the crisp edges of his quiz. He could hear the students working around him, scribbling down answers frantically for the chance to finish before the bell, but Harry, unashamedly, did not know a single one. It wasn’t because he was stupid—Harry was usually very good at English, and had been getting into honors courses ever since he could remember. His mother just considered it a standard nowadays, instead of an achievement. Good grades came naturally when he actually tried. It wasn’t until Louis became his teacher that he’d started to get distracted. But who could really blame him, with an ass like put on display. It was truly remarkable how nice it was, and Louis didn’t bother to reserve himself with those tight trousers and tucked shirts. During most classes Harry just wished to be spread out underneath Louis, ripping the braces right off his shoulders, rather than read the assignments. Maybe if he actually did the work he wouldn’t be failing the course.

He breathed heavily through his nose, running a stray hand through his hair, and looked down at the next question.

 _17.) Name four characters in The Great Gatsby and list their goal or motive in the story_.

Harry didn’t care. He didn’t care in the slightest. He just wanted to go home.

The bell ticked, but there was still ten minutes before the end of class, and he had ten questions left to avoid. Harry resigned, picking up the pen, and scribbling down a response.

_1._ _Nick – something about eggs?_

_2._ _Daisy – to get in gatsby’s pants ;)_

_3._ _Gatsby – daisy. (otp)_

He couldn’t think of another character, so in a moment of haste, he put down:

_4._ _Harry Styles – your thick cock_

Laughing to himself, he continued down the line of questions, putting down random, vaguely rude, sometimes bluntly sexual answers, and when the bell chimed through the class, he handed it in with a grin. Louis took it with a warm smile and put it with the rest of the papers. He offered a small, hopeful glance, which was as much as Harry could garner from him in public nowadays.

The thought of Louis reading those to himself sometime in the future and choking on his tea made him even happier. He swung his backpack over his shoulder and started his walk to his next class.

\--

Planning a birthday party was harder than he expected it to be. He didn’t know Louis had any friends. He knew the man _had_ some, like Liam and Zayn. Niall was going as well, as well as Ed. (It was harder to convince Ed to go, given they didn’t really hang out, but luckily Niall and him did.)

Thursday that week harry ditched school to invite Liam and Zayn over for help. Louis would surely give him hell for skipping, but he didn’t care, and he knew deep down Louis didn’t either. Liam and Zayn had never been inside his flat before, so he made an extra effort to do the dishes and throw out the trash. All and all, everything had become a lot cleaner since Louis started sleeping over, not because Louis cleaned for him, but because a messy flat never helped the mood.

They arrived around noon and came in holding hands. Harry was almost surprised they’d bothered to put on clothes for the visit across the hall. Every time he’d seen the couple, they’d been half-nude, slightly buzzed, and watching bad telly. It took him weeks to realize Zayn didn’t actually live with Liam and Louis.

“I just don’t know any of his friends, because we can’t go out together…” Harry explained. He couldn’t help but sound a little sad.

Liam noticed. “Don’t worry about it,” he told Harry, reaching out to firmly grasp his shoulder. “You’ll be out of school before you know it. You’ll be able to go out together in public soon.”

“Ha,” Harry laughed, “Feels like I’m back in the closet. Not fun.”

Liam shrugged and snuck a glance at Zayn, who was finding friends through his phone. “Like I said. You’ll soon be out of whatever cage you’re in. Louis may be flamboyant and loud, but when he wants to keep a secret he can. And when he does, it’s usually over something he cares about. I think he’s just really precautious about keeping you safe. All he ever does it talk about you.”

Harry turned a bit red hearing it, but he smiled back.

They found other people to come (Stan, Matt, Aiden, Grimmy, and others Harry couldn’t remember the name of) and then retired themselves to the couch. Harry got them both beers and sat down in the chairs opposite, pulling up his legs.

“Let me be honest,” Zayn said, leaning back into his boyfriend, “I really like you with Louis. And I’d remind everyone that I was the one to suggest you two hooking up.”

Harry cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Zayn nodded, and Liam ran a hand through his boyfriend’s fringe.

“Louis has a lot of friends,” Liam said. It sounded almost like he was speaking to himself. “But I don’t think there’s anyone he’d miss more than his family. I think that’s the reason he doesn’t want to party. He thinks if there _is_ a party, he won’t be able to Skype his sisters that night.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Zayn said. “He used to be the biggest partier. He had the record for the longest keg-stand in our whole high school. Did you know that? He’s an epic drunk. He can pull of miracles when you get a few in him. But ever since he took himself away from Doncaster…” Zayn shook his head.

Harry stared at them both. They went into their own little worlds then, laughing into each other’s shoulders and watching _Grease_. There was something so domestic and comfy about them that Harry couldn’t put his finger on. He wanted that with Louis so bad. He wanted to be the couple that was together for years, lived happily, stayed together, and never bothered to separate. Because for anyone else, two people being so near one another for so long might be annoying or nauseatingly dependant, but when Liam and Zayn did it, Harry just felt jealous and strangely hopeful.

He stared at the couple and imagined him and Louis sitting on that couch as well, several years older with the same love in their eyes.

\--

Louis was pleasantly surprised to see his flat in working condition at his arrival. The silence was peculiar and overwhelming, and he relished in it. He set down his bag carefully on the countertop, hoping to not wake anyone should they be asleep. He didn’t get much time alone away from Liam and Zayn, choosing to spend free time wrapped around his favorite student, so it should have been alarming that the two of them weren’t in their usual spots. The TV wasn’t even on, the beer in the fridge untouched.

He didn’t bother to find them, though. He knew if they were both gone, they’d probably gone out together, to the movies, to a restaurant or something. He didn’t want to waste this precious moment. Louis sat down in the spot of the couch he never got to occupy and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table, shutting his weary eyes. He’d been stressed out from the moment he noticed Harry wasn’t in class. It wasn’t the first time the boy decided to ditch, but he knew how much it bothered Louis. Lou couldn’t bring himself to blame his boyfriend though. There was nothing interesting to them about the social monarchy of _Pride and Prejudice_.

Knowing he wouldn’t get this silence when the boys returned, Louis dug through his bag and pulled out the stack of quizzes from earlier. He hadn’t graded them yet, because Harry had been busy doing god knows what all week and couldn’t help him. It didn’t feel right grading without Harry, but there had been a few snotty, grade-grubbing students begging to see their scores. Louis didn’t particularly like those types of students; they made his job harder.

It was a fairly simple process. He checked off right answers and wrong answers and wrote little notes in the margins, and he worked through the stack fairly quickly. When he found Harry’s, he smiled slightly, loving the way Harry’s handwriting curled and cut short in an unbelievably teenage-girl way. It was adorable, even though his scores weren’t. He was getting nearly all of them wrong, Louis noted. He knew Harry didn’t like English, nor did he ever both to try, but still.

His breath caught when he noticed Harry’s answers starting to get ruder. _Your thick cock_. He groaned, adjusting his seat on the couch, and checked the answer off as right. So much for his relaxing time to grade papers. Harry made damn sure Louis would never be relaxed again.

 He looked down at the next answer.

_I wanna suck you off underneath your desk during class_

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis muttered, checking the answer off again. They just got progressively worse, and Louis got progressively harder.

_your arse looks so fuckable in those jeans_

_my fingers don’t go as deep as your delicious cock_

_I'm so horny and tight for you right now_

_I can still feel your dick inside me every time I move, professor_

Louis just moaned. He didn’t bother to read the rest of them. He gave Harry a quick eighty at the top of the paper though he didn’t deserve it and shoved the papers aside. Zayn and Liam would’ve called if they were on their way home.

Lou undid his trousers with deft fingers and wrapped his hand around his aching cock. It was hard in his hands, and slowly he started to move up and down. He took his time, rubbing pre-cum from the tip all the way down his shaft and spreading it. Louis let out a breathy sigh and bit his lip, letting his head fall back against the cushions.

He really shouldn’t have been doing it on the couch, but he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t wait for the trip to his bedroom.

He started jerking himself faster. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, and he screwed his eyes tight. He imagined Harry laid out beneath him, legs spread and hair askew, looking up at him with that goddamn smile and lazy eyes and expression so loveable and fuckable at the same time. He imagined the moans and desperate whimpers Harry would make, the way Harry’s hands would claw at his back and grab at Louis in any way he could. Harry would tug his hair, and he would wrap his long legs around Louis’ waist, arching up into his touch and screaming as he did…

They were always so desperate to crawl into each other.

Louis could feel himself getting closer. He was sweaty and sinking deeper into the hot couch, and his skin was burning to the touch with sensitivity. A warm ache started at the base of his spine, and before he knew it, he was coming into his hands with the thought of Harry there with him.

With shaky hands Louis sucked, needy, on his coated fingers and rose from the couch. He was dizzy, but he wanted to hide in his room before Zayn and Liam got home. He was vaguely aware of his mobile ringing in his briefcase somewhere, but he ignored it. Louis stumbled into his room. He didn’t notice until later that Harry’s quiz was spotted with drops of his cum.

\--

In the early hours of the night, Louis felt his bed depress. He looked over out the window to see that it had started to snow, and he shivered as cold hands reached forward to push aside his fringe.

“Hi, love,” Harry said quietly. “Shh, you go back to sleep. I’ve just come to join you.”

He felt the covers being lifted and then brought back down. Harry’s skin was refreshing and cool, and he let himself be wrapped inside Harry’s long, inviting arms. Fingers were bunching up the shirt at the small of his back and resting there.

“Harry,” he said sleepily.

Harry pressed a kiss to his forehead. “’m right here, boo. You can sleep now.”

“Mmmmm,” Louis mumbled, and he did.

\--

Fridays were always the hardest, because his students never cooperated. Not that they usually did, but on the eve of a full weekend, they were particularly antsy.

“No one?” Louis asked, leaning back so that his bum pressed into the edge of his desk. “No one can tell me the answer?”

He was returned with vacant stares.

“e. e. cummings spelled his name in all lowercase,” Louis said, and someone in the back of the room snickered at the name. “It was an uncommon style at the time, and very unlike his peers. He was told that he shouldn’t neglect his grammar. However, he didn’t listen.”

Louis turned around to write something on the board when a low wolf-whistle sounded from behind him. His shoulders slumped, and he set down the chalk.

“Guys, I know it’s Friday, but can’t you try? It’s only first period, and—”

The door to his room flew open and in the doorway stood Lottie Tomlinson peeking nervously inside. Almost twenty heads turned to stare at her entrance, followed by the rest of his siblings. Phoebe passed Lottie, ran to the front of the room, and grabbed at Louis’ hands.

“Lou!” she said, reaching forward in a gesture that indicated she wanted to be held. Louis knew he shouldn’t, but he was so surprised, he obliged. Daisy ran in after him, followed by Fizzy.

“Is this a bad time?” Lottie asked, still standing on the threshold. “We were told you were on a break period.”

“Not for another twelve minutes,” Louis told her, voice soft. “Was this the big surprise?”

Lottie only smiled. “A small part of it.”

He barely registered the sound of teenage girls cooing. In the corner of the room, Perrie Edwards was hiding her face in her hands, and Danielle was staring at them with big eyes.

“Harry?”

Harry looked at Fizzy as she came over. She looked confused seeing Harry there in the desk, books open in front of him and pen in-between his fingers. Realization crossed her face, and she flushed bright red. Lottie seemed to have grasped Louis’ fault at the same time, but the twins didn’t catch their drift.

“Harry!” Daisy cried and went to him. “I know _you_!”

Phoebe struggled in his hands to run to Harry as well, but Louis held her tight against his chest to stop it.

“No, no guys, you’ll have to wait in the hall,” he said. He took Daisy by her wrist and brought the girls to the doorway. “I’m sorry—sorry about that, just wait here until the bell rings. Lovely to see you—”

He closed the door softly, only feeling slightly remorseful. He snuck a glance at Harry, who was smiling rather oddly at their embrace and hid his smile as people started to stare. Niall looked over to Harry with an obvious smirk, and Louis heard the words “Shut up, Niall” escape him. He didn’t reprimand them.

“Were those your sisters?” Perrie chirped. “They look just like you!”

“Yeah,” Louis said, voice rough.  Despite the circumstance of their first impression, he felt woozy on the inside. Seeing them in person for the first time in months hit him hard, and he’d nearly forgotten in everything happening how much he missed them. Louis only spoke to them a few times a week on the phone, and he got to Skype them only when he was really lucky. With soccer games, dance recitals, and play dates, it seemed that his girls led busier lives than he did. He hoped that Lottie and Fizzy wouldn’t rat him out to their mother in the remaining minutes of class…

He ignored the girls’ questions and Harry’s bashful expression, and he opened _The Great Gatsby_ up to where his bookmark was wedged.

“No, no, we still have ten minutes. Who can tell me who was driving the car that hit Myrtle?”

The room was silent for a moment. Louis was just about to sigh and roll his eyes when he heard Harry’s low voice say, “Daisy was.”

Louis smiled. “Daisy is correct.”

\--

“We’re really sorry for barging in on you,” Louis’ mom said. She handed him a plate, and Louis started to dry it with the towel. It was nice to have her back. He missed his family more than anything. The reason he’d moved to London was to have better career prospects and be able to send money back home to them whenever he could. He hadn’t been doing a very good job, especially since the only thing he could muster was English Lit. It didn’t pay that well, not nearly enough for the hell those kids were put through, and he didn’t have the natural desire to help them like all of his coworkers. Lou wanted to dance and sing, and he wanted to dress up into different costumes. He wanted to fool around on a big stage, not read Yeats and Austen in monotone to a class of twenty. Louis shouldn’t complain though. It wasn’t as bad as he made it out to be, and he _did_ appreciate the opportunity the Headmaster had given him (even if he did hurt Louis in the process). Still, the reminder of his old life back in Doncaster gave him a warm feeling inside, the same warm feeling he got when he talked deeply to Liam or Zayn, or when he and Harry would relax on the couch, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle…

He sighed. His mother noticed. In the background, they both heard the sounds of the girls, Liam, and Zayn playing Jenga in the living room. From their screeches, he could tell Liam was winning.

“How are you, darling? You look stressed.”

Louis took another plate and began to dry it. His evening tiredness began to overtake him. “Don’t worry about me, mum. I’m fine.”

She sighed and ceased her washing. Wiping her hands on her apron, she turned fully to face him with such sincerity it almost hurt. “I talked to the girls while you were at work.”

His stomach dropped. Surely she knew, then, that he was fooling around with one of his students. It was overt in every feature of her expression.

 _But it isn’t fooling_ , he though sourly. _I really do like him…_

She spoke slowly, like she was choosing her words very carefully. “I also talked to Harry. He seems like a very darling boy. I think he’s good for you.”

He waited, but she didn’t continue. “And?”

“And nothing,” Johannah said. “I like him. And I don’t want you to… do something that might screw up what you to have. Nor do I want you to hurt him. Normally I would worry about the opposite, someone hurting my baby boy, but just looking at him I know that’s impossible. So I will say this: don’t break his heart. He’s young.”

It took Louis a moment to register this. “So you’re okay with it?”

“I’m okay with anything that makes you happy. Well—he’s legal, right?”

“Yes, yes,” Louis sputtered.

“And you’re not cheating his grades, right?”

His face went red at the thought of Harry’s dirty quiz, but she didn’t notice. “Of course.”

“Then I think you’re capable of making your own decisions. And I think you made an okay one. He’s very cute. And you’ve only got one more semester before he’s graduating. I know I must seem like a mad woman giving you my blessing on something so ridiculous, but…”

He laughed and shook his head, knowing that it was just like his mother to do exactly that. “Thank you,” Louis breathed.

“It was actually Harry who called me,” she said. Louis raised an eyebrow. “He called me up the other day and asked if we’d like to come down. Said that you’d probably like us up for your birthday and for Christmas, and it was so funny, because we told him that part of our surprise was already to visit. Thanks to him, though, we decided to arrive a little earlier.”

“He did that?” Louis asked incredulously. “Harry— _my Harry_?”

Johannah nodded and smiled. She finished off that last of their dinner dishes and said, “Now, would you round up the girls? I made a special cake for your birthday, since I think your darling boyfriend has something bigger planned for the actual day. I wanted to have a little party for just us, if that’s alright. Afterwards you should have Harry stop by.”

“He doesn’t have anything planned for my birthday,” Louis said. “I told him to have a quiet night.”

Johannah just rolled her eyes.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set up chapter for more important, future chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's reading and reviewing. It means a whole lot! xx
> 
> twitter: electrifylouis  
> tumblr: electrifylarry  
> wattpad: reemus

The snow turned into a storm which turned into a blizzard, and before they knew it the entire complex shut down. Every sound, from the television to the refrigerator to the phonographs (because Harry couldn’t be bothered to get a _real_ stereo) shut off at once and they were left in comparative haunting silence. Louis was sitting on the couch next to Niall at the time, watching a foreign film on the shitty antenna TV, because Harry disconnected his cable and they had nothing better to watch. They couldn’t understand what was happening, because Louis was pretty sure the feature was in Spanish, but they were having a good time taking guesses as to who was dating whom. (The most they could gather was that the blonde teenager was cheating on her boyfriend with whom Niall assumed was her footy coach, though Louis was sure it was the mailman she was after. When he suggested this, Niall threw a fistful of popcorn in his direction and shouted “ _¿_ _Dónde_ _está_ _mi correo, puta?!”)_ When the telly winked off, they both groaned and stopped their fighting.

“What happened?” Harry shouted to them from the kitchen. They could hear him struggling to find his way around in the darkness.

“The storm knocked the power out, you buttlick!” Niall yelled back. Without light, they couldn’t see two feet in front of them. Louis could tell by his voice and the soft sigh that Niall rose from his spot on the couch to help him. It was lucky for Louis that Niall blindly knew his way around the flat. Louis was getting there, but not quite yet.

“This is horrible,” Harry whined, “I was just heating up some cocoa…”

“I don’t think it’ll be too long,” Niall mumbled back, but they all knew that was a lie. Outside, the blizzard was just staring and would soon be in full swing. They didn’t live in the best of London’s buildings, so they didn’t have any sort of backup generator, nor were they in the best of areas to ask for electrical support.

“I’ll get the candles,” Harry said, resigned. “I guess it’s better this way. I’m almost relieved. I don’t have enough money to pay for my electric bill as is…”

“If you were having trouble, why didn’t you say something?” Louis asked, eyes crinkling. He’d made his way over from the couch, grabbing blindly at anything he could and bumping into tables, vases, and the edge of the countertop. He extended both of his arms out, his left finding the frilly ends of Niall’s blouse, his right finding the cotton collar of Harry’s Christmas sweater. They were both cold. Louis had been wondering why Harry didn’t turn on the heating, and he realized that maybe he’d been scared to run up a fee.

“The whole point of me moving out here was to prove I could do this on my own, wasn’t it? To stop burdening my mother?”

“Harry…”

Louis took what he had of Harry’s collar and pulled him in, pressing his nose to the juncture where Harry’s shoulder met his neck. He bit softly at the skin there and then raised his head so that he was pressed into Harry’s damp curls.

“You’re lucky Niall can’t see you right now,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” they heard Niall whisper back from somewhere in the darkness, “but I can hear you as well.”

They both laughed. “I’ll find some matches,” Louis said.

“I have the candles here somewhere…”

“I’ll find my way back to the couch,” Niall said. “Seeing as you two clearly have this covered. You wouldn’t happen to have a sweatshirt, Haz?”

“You could try feeling around in my closet, though I don’t think you’ll be able to see well. Open up the window for a little if you need to use the streetlights…”

Niall took this and ran; they could hear his descending footsteps.

“I shouldn’t have said that. Last time I let him in my closet he threw away almost everything he deemed unacceptable and—have you found the matches?”

“No. I can’t look for them, because I can’t see.”

“Oh. Yeah. Well—”

“There’s a bit of an issue.”

“I can see that, you Doncaster Dummy. Plan B. I think there’s a torch under the cabinets. Just—reach down and—”

“Oh— _ow, that’s my face, Harry._ ”

“Oops.”

“Hi.”

“You’re a dork.”

“ _You’re_ sexy.”

“Just move a bit to your left, Lou. The handle’s right there—”

“I’m on the floor, sorry—let me scoot—here. Oh! Think I found it—”

Louis flipped the switch on the torch and a bright light showed them a dim circle of their surroundings. Louis was lying down on the linoleum of Harry’s kitchen tile, leg’s tangled with the younger boy and head resting against the dishwasher, and Harry’s face was dangerously close to his.

“You know, if I didn’t think any better, I’d say you’re going to snog me right here, like in those movies,” Louis told him, smirking.

Harry rolled his eyes. “As much as you love them, this isn’t one of your feisty Spanish films, Boo.”

“You’re right. There’s a lot more cheating in those. The only thing you cheat at is Monopoly.”

“But I didn’t—!”

“ _Oh my God!_ ” Niall’s voice came into their consciousness, and they flashed the torch up just enough to see the blond boy wearing one of Harry’s bigger sweatshirts. It zipped in the front and had “OPEN AT THE CLOSE” written across the front in big bold letters—you couldn’t even see the end of Niall’s short skirt, the sweatshirt was so long, just the end of it and then two long expanses of leg. Niall covered his eyes with his hands. “You brazen whores, getting it on while I’m in the other room! Be ashamed!”

Harry didn’t feel the least bit sorry when the torch hit Niall in the stomach.

\--

“Louis.”

“Mmm.”

“Lou?”

“Yeah?”

“I feel caged.”

“Wha—Harry?”

“Sorry—I know you’re sleeping—but—like I know I’m never going to say it in the morning, and I can’t help but wonder if I will even _remember_ to. But I feel caged, and I can’t get it out of my head. I don’t know how else to describe it, but there’s something so constricting, and everything I do hinders my movement. I want to be with you. Really. I want to hold your hand in public and go to bars and take our families out on Christmas morning, and I feel caged.”

“Harry.”

“Yeah?”

“What made you think this at three in the morning?”

“I couldn’t sleep. And I need you to know.”

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“I’d love to be with you. I’d love to hold your hand and be with you and go out to bars. We will. Eventually. But for now, until this is passed us, I’m okay with holding you here. In peace. In the quiet.”

“Do you feel caged as well?”

“Yeah, Haz. Of course. But think about everything we can do once we’re free. It won’t be that long. I promise.”

“Lou?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you as well. Now go back to bed. You have class in the morning.”

\--

Harry grumbled something unintelligible and threw his copy of _The Great Gatsby_ across the table. It landed with an unsettling clatter on Niall’s end. He picked it up and threw it back.

“I hate this. I hate studying,” Harry moaned. “Where’s Louis?”

“Teaching,” Niall told him. “That’s kind of his _job_.”

Harry grumbled some more and put his head in his hands. Students milled around him, picking out books and placing them back in the wrong order, but mostly they just whipped out their phones and didn’t bother looking up for the rest of the period. Study hall didn’t even work as a study hall, because the only time people actually studied were midterm and finals week. Harry knew that his worse class was Lit, but it wasn’t his fault he was always distracted. He tried to read _The Great Gatsby_ and _Pride and Prejudice_ and _When the Emperor Was Devine_ , but every time he picked one up, he was reminded of who taught that class, and that person’s beautiful arse.

“Do you think he thinks about me while he teaches?”

Niall rolled his eyes and set down his book. “Have I just become the major third wheel of the group now that you are totally fucking our English teacher?”

“ _Shhhhh!_ Seriously Niall, keep your voice low. Besides, usually it’s _him_ fucking _me_. Usually. And you’re very much needed in our little clique, I assure you.”

“The third wheel is never needed,” retorted Niall. He gestured with his hands on the table, outlining the wheels of a bicycle with his index finger.

“Think of us like a tricycle instead, then.”

“Only toddlers use those.”

“We’re immature like a toddler. Okay? Trust me. We’d fall without you.”

Niall sighed. “Have you called all the guests for Louis’ party? Where’s his family?”

Harry waved his hand. “They’re staying in some motel in the inner city or whatever. They said they didn’t want to burden Lou, but they visit everyday. They will be there at the party, along with Grimmy, you, Aiden, Matt…” he trailed off, listing names. “I don’t know any of these people.”

“Better make a good first impression as his little housewife, then.”

“I’m not the housewife.”

Niall laughed and threw a wad of paper. “You’re the housewife as much as I’m the third wheel.”

“Exactly. None at all. I wonder if Louis will help me study.”

“Oh, shut it.”

\--

Louis hissed and licked up the stripe of Harry’s chest. He was almost fully seated in his lap, sweating profusely, and his body was aching to be touched, arching into it whenever he could. His skinw as hot and burning underneath the cool fingertips of his boyfriend.

“I think we should play a game.”

Underneath him, Harry looked up with wide eyes. “What kind of game?”

“Have you ever seen the movie _Billy Madison_?”

A line formed in between Harry’s eyebrows, and Louis resisted the urge to smooth it with his thumb. A pretty face like his shouldn’t wrinkle.

“What? Is that not old or obscure enough for you?”

Harry smirked and lifted a hand to twist one of Louis’ perk nipples. “I’ve _heard_ of it.”

“Well, I think I have a perfect idea.”

He rocked down into his hard crotch, and he leaned forward kiss Harry, and the hot press of Harry’s tongue on the roof of his mouth made him moan. They were so desperate that it was almost clumsy, bulky hands grabbing at even bulkier limbs. He found some restraint, though, to climb off of the younger boy with a breathy protest. “Turn over.”

Harry whined and did as he was told, pressing his face into the damp pillow to muffle the noises escaping his lips.

Louis grabbed a handful of Harry’s arse. It wasn’t as big as Louis’ but it was small and cute, and Louis couldn’t get enough of it. He slapped it—not hard, but enough to erect a girly, whorish moan from the boy underneath him. Slowly, he circled his hand down to press a finger to Harry’s puckered hole. He gently pressed one finger in.

“Tell me which character in the Great Gatsby started to throw shirts.”

“ _What_?”

“Tell me—”

“No, _I heard you_. Is that your idea of dirty talk? It’s not very attractive.”

“Tell me, or you aren’t getting anything farther than this.”

Harry searched his brain, but came up short. He guessed, “Gatsby?” and was relieved when he felt Louis press his dingers all the way in, right up to the knuckle. He pushed back into the hand.

Soon, Louis was working the digit in and out, slower, and dripping with cool lube. He scissored as he added a second finger, and not long after a third one.

“Nnn,” Harry said, “God, Lou. Fuck me.”

“You like that?” Louis hissed, curling his fingers until he felt Harry go limp underneath him. The boy’s knees gave out so that he was pressing his entire body into the mattress except for his arse, which was raised and on display.

“Go deeper,” Harry instructed, and was retorted with another slap on the arse.

“Don’t tell me what to do. Name three of the Bennet sisters.”

“ _Lou_.”

“Do it!”

“G-god, Jane? Yeah, Jane. Um, Lizzie? And…” Harry squeezed his eyes shut and clenched, feeling Lou’s long, skinny fingers moving inside him. Sweat was gathering in the small of his back and wanted to tell Louis to just pull out and to just _use your cock already!,_ but the feeling was so overwhelming his memory clouded over the necessary information.

“What is it?” Louis demanded, pulling out one of his fingers. Harry felt it and whined at the absence, taking the emptiness as a threat against him. “Tell me or I’ll leave you like this.”

“Rache—no, Mary!” Harry panted back. He couldn’t help it—the thought of Louis fucking him so roughly was making him go weak, the thought of Louis’ dick down his throat…

“God, I’ve never seen someone with such a needy mouth. Look at you, sucking on those sheets. Here—take my fingers.” Louis replaced the digits pressing inside Harry with the head of his cock and brought his other hand into Harry’s direction. The boy took the fingers greedily, feeling better.

“Give me an example of an epithet.”

“ _Please_ ,” Harry said around Louis’ digits. He was nearly sobbing, shaking. He didn’t know the information—he never did. How was he supposed to survive like this?

“Just tell me. I know you know it. You answered the question in class.”

“Lou… _God_.”

“I want to make sure you go into your midterm ready. If you really just can’t stop thinking of my arse in class, at least let my arse and sex remind you of the Bennet sisters and plot devices. That way you’ll know. And then I swear, Harry, I’ll pound you ‘till you can’t walk and ride you into oblivion…”

Harry’s dick _hurt,_ and it made his entire abdomen clench. It rubbed and chaffed against the sheets, which were hot from his sweat and his mouth. He wracked his brain for an answer, trying to forget about Louis’ burning breath on the nape of his neck or his hand on Harry’s hip. He thought back to class as _Mr. Tomlinson_ wrote the definitions on the board. God, his hips looked amazing and narrow in those trousers.

“Ma’ter mar’na,” Harry mumbled. He felt the leaking head of Louis’ dick press into his hole.

“What was that? I can’t quite hear you with your mouth sucking on my fingers, love.”

Harry pulled off for a moment and said dizzily, “The Master Mariner.”

“Odysseus. Good choice.”

Harry could hear the smirk in Louis’ voice. He tried not to wince as he felt Louis push in, and the tension coiled into his shoulders as the older was sheathed.

“Still as tight as a virgin, Haz,” Louis said affectionately, rubbing at the base of Harry’s spine with his forefinger. Harry shivered at the phantom of a touch, just barely brushing his skin. Everything was becoming much too hot.

He started to thrust slowly at first, deep and paced and rhythmic, thrusts that pushed Harry all the way forward and pulled him all the way back, thrusts that had Harry shaking with Lou. He’d never felt more stretched and open in his life, like he was going to tear with the shear force of Louis’ presence.

Louis didn’t ask any more questions as they moved together. It was like once he was inside, he didn’t have any reason to. They didn’t want to be focused on anything else, and when Harry came, he came with Louis’ lips pressed firmly to the curve of his shoulder blade. When Louis finished, it was with Harry writhing underneath him.

That Friday, Harry passed his Lit midterm with a B-. It was the highest grade he’d gotten all year. 


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fame findings, Ed and Harry have a talk, Louis hates hipsters despite being in love with one, and a Christmas Party might not be the best place to give fantastic head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i am so sorry for this being so late. like, i feel so much better not that i'm out of my block. really, this was a crazy relief to write.
> 
> twitter: @electrifylouis  
> tumblr: electrifylarry  
> wattpad: reemus

Harry sat back in his chair and winced as a shot of pain ran up his spine. He smiled however, as he readjusted his bottom, and he began to pick apart the bagel on his tray with long, skinny fingers. In front of him, Niall was chewing loudly on his lunch and smiling a bit too wide for someone with food in their mouth.

“Have you got everything set up?” he asked, spooning another bite-full of Madam Mahone’s Homemade Pasta dish. It came with a little wreath cookie for the holidays (usually the only edible part of her meals were the rare treats), which Harry had stolen stealthily when Niall sat down.

“Louis’ mom and sisters are at his apartment right now setting up with Zayn and Liam. I got a call from Matt saying he couldn’t make it, but most of the other guests are coming. I was thinking we should skip last period to be there early—you know, just in case.”

Niall frowned. “The girls are going to be there? Aren’t they like, twelve at most?”

“I think the eldest if fifteen.”

“Too young,” Niall complained. “There’s going to be booze and weed and girls. And his mom is going to be there?”

“No,” Harry sighed. “They’re just helping set up. They’ve already had their own party with Louis. They’re going to be there for the surprise, and then they’re leaving. That’s when we can break out the music and the red solo cups—and what do we need _girls_ for? Most of the people going are either gay or already occupied with a boyfriend.”

“Don’t get your panties in a wad. There are going to be people there interested in girls—male and female alike. Just because the birthday boy had a collar around his neck doesn’t mean the other guests can’t have fun. Say—did you invite that Ed guy?”

“Sheeran? Yeah, I think so. Why?”

Niall smiled. “I think you should ask him about making a record or something. Like, maybe record a song together? Or ask him for advice? He’s going to be doing some shows out in America soon, and—”

“He’s doing shows in _America_?” Harry asked incredulously. “How the fuck did you know that Niall? I thought he just did some odd shows in different pubs. He’s actually, like, famous?”

Niall turned a slight shade of pink. “We talk sometimes. God. I can have friends outside of you can’t I?”

Harry made a show of kicking the blond under the table, and Niall reached over to playfully tug on one of Harry’s errant curls.

“He’s not _famous_ famous,” Niall said meekly. “Not to the point where people are, like, following him places or have twitters dedicated to him. But he’s definitely getting there. Ask any hipster, and their knowledge of underground, unheard of music will definitely include Ed Sheeran. Given that, I’m surprised you didn’t know him already.”

Harry sat back in his chair, his mind wandering so far he didn’t even bother to quip back. Around him, the school cafeteria was humming with life and electricity and drama, but none of it affected him. “He’s actually, like, famous though.”

Niall huffed. “Dude, what did I just sa—”

“But like— _Niall_. He’s about to go on _tour_ , you know? He’s got, like, fans and stuff, that buy his tickets and listen to his music and think about him. How crazy is that?”

“I guess it’s a bit weird. He seems so chill, you know? He gave us a free pass to his show the same night we met him.” Niall shook his head. “That man. He’s so _nice_.”

“It’s a good thing fame hasn’t hit him yet,” Harry said sourly. “You don’t think he’ll change, do you?”

Niall stared very intently at the plate of food in front of him, his mouth set in a hard line. He twirled his fork absently and cocked his head. Harry didn’t think he looked the same without his skirts and pretty blouses. At school Niall drowned himself with big sweatshirts and baggy jeans, Nikes with the tongues so big they were almost distracting. He didn’t have any sense of male fashion, so when he _did_ where T-Shirts, they were usually weirdly shaped or had obnoxious designs on them. The colors drained his pale cheeks and made him look tired and sullen, and didn’t flatter him like the sweaters and camisole tops he had at home.

“Nah,” Niall said. “He won’t change. You won’t either, when you get famous. Louis and I will make sure of that.”

\--

Louis rushed out of the school building the moment the bell rang. As a teacher, he was technically not allowed to leave the premises until two-thirty, a half-hour after the students, but at that point he didn’t particularly care. It was the end to the last day before winter break, and with the eve of Christmas coming up, his only focus was to get home. As he stepped onto the pavement, his boots started to slip and slide on the slick concrete. Snow was falling into his once perfect and now sagging quiff, but it was nonetheless irritating.

Students started to pool out of the front doors behind and parted around Louis quickly, jostling him. In a moment of blind panic, his feet came entirely off the ground and he landed on the slushy pavement with only his bum for consultation. Behind him, he heard a few derisive snorts from rude students, but otherwise he seemed to have gone unnoticed.

His mood officially pissy, he wished nothing more than to be tucked in front of the fireplace with Harry and possibly Liam or Zayn. He pictured something nice like hot cocoa and decorating the tree and maybe if he was lucky they might eat some birthday cake.

That reminded him—as he started to drive down through town, he made a turn that led him into a different part of London. Shops and stores lined up the roads, its sidewalks filled with last-minute holiday shoppers. Louis didn’t like to consider himself a last-minute shopper, because that made him seem, well, lazy or inattentive. He was _an attentive boyfriend_. He knew _exactly_ what he was going to get Harry, where he was going to get it, and how many. He just never had the time to get it unnoticed, but now that he left work early, neither the boys nor Harry were expecting him for at least another half hour.

Louis parked his car onto the curb and stepped out with a sigh, making extra careful to keep his balance. He tugged grumpily on the back of his long, dark coat hoping it would hide his now blatantly wet trousers—(“ _No_ , I did not pee myself!” he knew he would have to defend himself against his roommate’s laughter upon his arrival).

The man behind the counter looked so much like a hipster Louis almost wanted to beat his head on the counter. He had the scarf and the jeans rolled up passed his ankles and the quiff. He was pretty much _Louis_ except for bigger and broader and, in Louis’ opinion, didn’t pull it off as well.

“How can I help you?” the man asked. His ring-clad hands were fingering the ridges of a cracked vinyl.

“I’m here for my bo—good friend. Do you have records?”

The cashier gave an amused smile. “Yes, we sell records in a store called Dusty Records.”

Oh, he was clever. Louis bounced on the balls of his feet, feeling jealousy claw its way up his throat. “I _meant,_ can you direct me to them?”

The man smiled nicely, which just made Louis angrier, and he stepped out from behind the counter to walk in the direction behind Louis. It was a large selection, everything from Adele to Johnny Cash, from BASTILLE to Stevie Nicks. There were too many, rows and shelves and boxes of vinyls with genre and artist tabs sticking out faded. The impression was dizzying, and though he hated to admit it, Louis could never navigate a labyrinth like that without the help of Stupid Hipster Cashier. (He neglected to reason that his boyfriend, too, was undeniably hipster, a quality that Louis found endearing, and pointedly the sole reason he was in the shop at all.)

The other man clapped his hands together. “ _Now_ ,” he said with promise, “what is your boyfriend listening to?”

Louis quirked an eyebrow. “I said it was my _friend_.”

He let out a breathy sigh. “Yeah, well. We both know that’s not true, darling.”

Louis swolled down a retort. “I don’t know. A bunch of old stuff I guess. He likes… the Rolling Stones, queen, The Beatles… we were listening to the Pixies not too long ago. Hey—what’s this playing now?” He made a gesture to the background noise coming from hidden speakers, and the man’s eyes lit up.

“That would be Bob Dylan. Exceptionally famous. Sung… let me think. _Mr. Tambourine Man._ That’s what’s playing now. God, brilliant.”

It sounded like something he would like, far off and hauntingly pleasant with a catchy background. Dylan’s voice was strangely relaxing, like Harry’s himself. With the general direction towards Dylan’s albums, the man walked back to his post and left Louis alone to graze. He had a better idea. He selected a big Bob Dylan album with what he assumed to be Bob’s face on the sleeve. He picked through the rest and found some he was sure Harry didn’t own, Bon Iver, The Kooks, Bright Eyes, Wings Across America, the 1975s, and some of Louis’ own favorites he hoped Harry would like. His heart swelled as he carried a heavy stack of vinyls to the counter and then turned around to graze at the posters, CD’s, and band T-Shirts that they also sold. Without Harry in his life, there was no possible way he could ever go in a place like this, but knowing the way Harry would smile when he slipped on a Rolling Stones shirt Louis had bought with him in mind made up for it. He picked out a few colorful posters he knew Harry would just _love_ to add to his collection and found some shirts with Harry’s favorite bands—they shared enough clothes to know one another’s wardrobe to a T.

When he was done, he made sure to pay in full (he had no idea that vinyls _could be_ so expensive), and he made his way back out into the plaza with his heart and head full.

\--

Louis noted a few things off when he pulled into the complex parking lot. There were way too many cars than normal, for one. Their flats were shitty and broken down, and he didn’t think so many people would want to live there or even visit.

For another thing, he couldn’t spot Liam _or_ Zayn’s car, which were usually parked in their usual spots next to each other. They were pretty much the only two spots empty.

Disregarding this, he made his way up the stairs grudgingly, cursing his sore bottom the entire time, and pushed open the door to his flat only to suck in a breath and take a fumbling step back. His flat was _filled_ , teeming with people, churning bodies, and loud music pouring from beating speakers. There was an outbreak of celebratory cries as he opened the door, from _happy birthday!_ ’s to _congrats man!_ ’s to simply loud _Louuuuuuuuiiiis!_ ’s. Louis’ heart came up into his throat and he didn’t know what to say.

To put it simply, Louis didn’t have birthday parties that often. It wasn’t to say he didn’t party— _oh, he partied_. He was the biggest partier at Uni, and he was known for holding a record of the longest Keg-Stand of the Doncaster area, but the point was, he didn’t have _birthday_ parties in specific, given obvious reasons. Christmas Eve was a family day where he was from, and he never had the heart to pull people away from their loved ones. The day before Christmas Eve was filled with roast-cooking, holiday shopping, grocery store raiding, and traveling. As it drew closer to Christmas, people became more unavailable, and he always found it easier to shut people out for a quiet celebration with his family or roommates, whichever. And he’d never complained about it—how could he? He usually got whatever he wanted the rest of the year up until late, and he was still considered his mother’s “Christmas Blessing”. Saying he didn’t want a birthday party was routine because up until then he knew it to be unattainable.

Pairs of hands were grabbing at him from all directions, gripping his shirt and pulling his arms. His eyes scanned the room to find Harry but all he found were other familiar faces. He picked out Aiden and Nick and Stan, and when he settled on Liam and Zayn getting particularly close in the kitchen, he locked his target.

“ _Guys!_ ” he said, voice breathless. The two looked up to him and their faces broke out into ridiculous grins.

“Happy early birthday, mate,” Liam said, untangling himself from Zayn and going in for a hug, which Louis returned as best he could given his weak arms. Zayn didn’t hesitate to get his turn and pulled Louis in a bone-crushing embrace, greeting him as well.

“How did—this—” He had to speak up over the speakers, his voice was so touched and quiet.

“Harry’s idea,” Zayn said, leaning back against the counter. A girl whom Louis did not recognize in the light maneuvered around them, grabbed a cookie from one of the trays, punched Lou playfully in the shoulder, and exited again mumbling something in a slightly tipsy voice. “It’s always Harry’s idea. We didn’t think you’d want one considering previous years, but now we realize that’s kind of stupid. Harry, man—he’s good at persuading.”

Heat was starting to get to Louis. He wanted to change his clothes into something that showed skin, and he wanted to grab the bottle of rum and the bottle of coke, and he wanted to drink _a lot_ and laugh too loud and kiss Harry in front of everyone (even though he technically couldn’t, in case someone might recognize him).

“G— _God_ , where is that boy?”

Zayn smiled and winked, biting his lip. “Check the bedroom.”

Louis nodded and smiled. He took the bag hanging around his wrist and bunched it up against his chest, hoping the open flaps of his coat would conceal it from Harry before he had the chance to hide it.

Harry _was_ in the bedroom, collecting together a small pile of gifts and setting them up next to Lou’s dresser. He looked nice— _really_ nice. And not the usual ripped jeans and stained shirts and occasionally greasy hair. He was wearing _tight_ clothes and dark leather trousers, ones he knew to be Zayn’s. (Don’t tell Zayn this, but Louis would forever think Harry looked a thousand times sexier in them.) His skin was flushed and milky, and his hair was soft looking, in a way that Louis wanted to wrap a stray curl around his finger and _pull_ , yanking them until Harry begged, and his green eyes looked _larger_.

“God—are you wearing _makeup_?” Louis asked incredulously.

“Hello to you too,” Harry said when the surprise of Louis’ entrance faded. He walked confidently—Louis had never seen him walk _confidently_ —over to Louis and took the shorter boy in by the face until their lips met. It was not passionate nor was it soft. It was _hesitant_. Not even a full kiss, but a kiss that promised more in the future. A preview of what he _would_ get, delivered in a way that made him squirm. “Happy birthday, Louis.”

\--

 _God_ , Louis thought. That’s all that he could think at that point. He was properly buzzed, having downed four beers and was moving on to the rum and coke he promised himself. People were still coming up to him, fluffing his hair (which had gotten exceptionally unruly in a disturbingly short amount of time), and he couldn’t help but smile as he saw his boyfriend mingle in with his friends. Stan and him had just finished a game of Beer Pong, and while Stan went to mingle with some of the younger birds, Harry had taken up a conversation with Ed. In the corner of the room, Liam and Zayn were (blatantly, embarrassingly) grinding in the middle of a large group of people, and Niall had taken to a rather built bloke on the couch, who’s hand was slowly working its way up Niall’s pleated skirt.

“What ever happened to _beer before liquor, never sicker_?” Grimmy’s melancholy voice was nice in comparison to the pounding bass of the stereo.

“I know how to drink,” Louis said raising the glass to his lips. “Don’t doubt me.”

“You’ve got rather large heart eyes for the ginger over there,” Nick laughed. “Or is it the curly-haired bloke you’re after?”

Louis, too drunk to be careful, told Nick cheerfully, “Curly, actually. That’s my Harry. God, he’s got such a _cute_ arse. Can’t you see it in those trousers? _God_.”

Nick laughed again and a large hand clamped down on Louis’ comparatively small shoulder. “I heard the red head and him talking about America. Planning a trip?”

“Not Harry,” Louis said. “Nah, I think Ed is going though. Like, music tours or something. Can you pass me a cookie?”

Nick did so silently and there was an air of unspoken _something_ around him, and suddenly Louis felt very uncomfortable with Grimmy’s hand still pressed gently onto his back.

“I’m going to go see if I can get a lap dance from the strippers,” he said suddenly with a goodbye pat. It was only then that Louis could see the dancers spread out across his apartment, boy and girl alike in skimpy outfits and strapping leather, with police hats and handcuffs fastened on their thighs. He didn’t think much of the woman, but the man was rather fit.

“I think he was hitting on you,” a voice said. Louis felt two long arms wrap around him, and a familiar distinctive scent was literally pouring off the boy. He peeked up and saw that Ed was now talking to Niall and not Harry.

He turned around. “I think you’re a bit buzzed,” Louis replied smugly, unable to hide the slur of his own words. There was an odd glowing haze around his boyfriend that Louis wasn’t sure was his imagination, but it made Harry look like an angel. A really, really intoxicated, soft angel.

Because Harry wasn’t perfect. Most of the time he looked homeless, he couldn’t pay his rent, he failed most of his classes, and he snored too loud. He was far from faultless, but Louis couldn’t see it. Like, Louis didn’t understand how it was fair a person could have such a flawlessly sculpted body, and creamy, rosy skin, and curls painted by van Gogh, and when Harry got drunk he didn’t get sloppy or angry or dizzy. His eyes glossed over and his cheeks got color and his smile got all dopey, and it was so unfair, and

and Louis got extremely fond when he was drunk. That’s why he had too many shameful one-night stands under his belt. He shook his head.

“Your hickeys look like constellations,” Louis drawled, a small pointer finger running along the marks up Harry’s throat.

“God, that shouldn’t be a sexy thing to say, should it?” Harry laughed, and it sounded far away. “For the record, you get all snugly when your drunk, and I find that endearing. Are you sure you can make it through the party before you pass out?”

“I’m not going to pass out,” Louis protested. “God, I wanna get you out of the trousers.”

“You’re way too drunk.”

“Am not,” Louis protested.

“Yes, you are. What else do you want? It’s your birthday after all…”

“I wanna…” Louis’ eyes narrowed as he thought, looking like the gears were turning very hard in his head. He wanted to do so many things. He wanted get another drink, he wanted to fuck Harry hard, he wanted to make eggs, and watch _Casablanca_ , he wanted to give Harry a present, and he wanted to dance in the living room, in that big ground of people… “Come with me.”

Louis’ small hands took Harry’s large wrist in a very delicate way to pull him (in a not so delicate way) into the hoard of people. It should have been strange to see his living room disheveled, the couch pushed into the corner, the hard wood serving as a dance floor, and the speakers his mom got him as a welcoming present working as their DJ. He was sure to have a cow in the morning…

Harry’s crotch pressed up against Louis’ jean-class arse made up for it, though. Harry didn’t top often, but when he did, he made sure Louis would remember it every time he moved the next twenty-four hours. And the chaff of the material and the restriction on his balls shouldn’t have been as erotic and hot as it was, but it sure wasn’t the lights making him sweat so hard.

Long fingers digging into his hipbone, Harry’s hands came to rest on Louis’ waist. Louis leaned his head back so that it rested on Harry’s taut shoulder, and he felt the sting of Harry biting a bruise onto his outstretched neck. His boyfriend was so tall and gangly; he knew that the people Liam and Zayn invited would never know Harry was a student. He hated to admit it, but sometimes Harry made himself look older than Lou. And because of this, it gave him the perfect excuse to turn around and press his hot lips to the taller boy’s.

Harry’s tongue licked the seam of his lips and when he opened them, Harry took full advantage. A broken sound came from some core part of Louis, and his body curved into Harry’s. Louis had always been too responsive, and it usually made a very big mess for him in school. One delicate stroke of his wrist against Louis’s neck or arm, and he would be ruined for the entire day. A few weeks ago, Harry had stealthily visited him during the lunch break, and right before he left, he pulled not-so-gently on Louis’s fringe which instantly sent a tugging feeling in his lower tummy. Needless to say, he sat down the entire next class, happy for the hideout his crotch had under his desk.

But right then Harry’s fingers were moving agonizingly slow down Louis’ hips, dipping carefully into the waistband. He didn’t go too far—they _were_ in front of about forty people (a fact that gave them both excited shivers)—but enough so that the tips of Harry’s fingers were hooked inside.

There was some bubblegum-pop boyband playing now on the stereo, loud beat pumping fast like his blood, so thunderous in his ears he couldn’t tell which was which. He could barely make out the words or the voices, but to him it sounded like heaven, possibly the best song he’d ever heard.

“I’m so happy I get you all to myself tonight,” Harry admitted, mouthing at Louis’ neck but never actually biting or kissing in a way that made Louis furious with tension. In retaliation he braided his fingers through the hair at Harry’s nape and wrenched. He swore it only made Harry grin sloppily back.

“I’d hate to ditch my own party that you worked oh-so hard to make for me,” Louis said, licking his lips and trying to concentrate on getting the words out. “But would you care to join me in the other room?”

Harry’s voice was a low rumble, slow and deep and dizzying. “Screw the party.”

This part of his recollection might not have been true—the part where Harry lifted him up by the underside of his thighs and carried him across the flat into the bedroom. That might have been some distant memory or a secret kink deluding his dreams or simply a mistake of his intoxication, seeing as it sounded absurd and embarrassing. But the point was, Harry and Louis ended up pushing their way through the crowd, and right before the door shut behind them, several people turned to wolf whistle, one even throwing a “do him good!” to which Harry laughed into his boyfriend’s mouth.

Louis wasn’t sure if he wanted to fuck or be fucked, Harry’s arse looking so nice in those trousers and the ghost of Harry’s cock still grinding on him in his memory. In the back of his mind, a thought came to him. It was his birthday after all, who said he couldn’t have both?

He pushed Harry down against the sheets, bouncing a bit with momentum, before crawling his way up. Lou’s small hands worked to get Harry’s dick out from his pants, trousers already on the ground somewhere.

It was kind of a curse and kind of a blessing really, how much Louis loved sucking cock. Usually there was no one around to suck, but at the same time when there was, he was usually repayed generously for something it was a treat to give in the first place. He loved the heaviness on his tongue and the salty taste of precum down his throat, and Harry’s cock was so _warm_ pressing on his throat that how could he _not_ love giving head? Maybe it was stereotypical, something everyone could see at the first sight of Louis’ tiny joints and feminine face and bottom-worthy bum, but there was a reason his mouth got so needy, why he loved to kiss so much. Given this, it was no wonder he learned how to deep throat so early on. He had more practice than a regular whore.

Louis held Harry’s hips and pinned them to the mattress, allowing his hopeless hair to be destroyed by a pair of huge hands. Despite the music and screams and laughter that came from under the door, the sound of Harry’s dick sliding wetly down his throat and his heavy breathing was still the loudest thing in the bedroom. He felt the tip hit the back of his throat, eyes watering onto his flushed cheeks, but he relaxed somewhat and felt something in his throat give, allowing Harry to slide at least an inch farther.

“ _Ah—f-fuck_ ,” Harry moaned. “I thought it was _your_ birthday,” he said when Louis started to move up and down. Louis chuckled—as much as he could at least—and he pulled off with a _pop._

“This _is_ my birthday,” Louis laughed before going down again. He knew how sore his jaw would be in the morning, but thinking that just reminded him of _all_ the sore parts of his body the night promised, and that just made him moan.

“I’ve been hard ever since the dance floor, darling. I don’t think I’m going to—” but then Louis’ throat gave again so his nose was pressing into the taut flesh of Harry’s abdomen, and he swallowed carefully—and then Harry was coming. He’d been teetering on the edge for a while, but with that he shot straight down Louis’ throat, at the exact moment that the door to their bedroom swung open so fast it hit the bureau and knocked a vase to the floor, which shattered into a thousand fragments.

Harry jerked in surprise, which caused Louis to choke a little, his eyes watering. Niall was staring unabashedly at the two of them, a light smirk resting underneath a smiling façade. His hip checked, hand resting on it, and he said, “God, didn’t know you were gagging for it so early in the night—quite literally _gagging_. Lou, come on we’re just about to bring out cake and sing.”

“C’mon! Who sings happy birthday at a party like this, Niall?” Louis yelled back, not so much angry as he was annoyed he never got to enjoy Harry’s orgasm. He lunges for the first small thing within a two foot radius—which just so happened to be the bottle of lube on his nightstand—and he flung it at the blond. “Mate!”

Niall ducked and popped back up with a stupid expression on his face. “You have cum on your face by the way. I’ll expect you out in the next thirty seconds or else I’m blowing out the candles for you.” He turned and shut the door with a giggle before Louis could throw the next item on his nightstand—his glasses case.

“Bloody cake,” Harry sighed, but it was content, and his eyes were glassy. One of his big hands came up to wipe the dribble of cum on Louis’ chin and brought back to suck innocently on. “The things you love most have the worst timing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoa, yeah, so that was longer than i expected. (not my longest chapter, and not as long as it should have been given my unfair hiatus, but still, okay. just. yeah.)
> 
> i did upload that short fic about sirius black. so if you're a harry potter fan as well, check that out.
> 
> POLL: if i were to write a hogwarts!AU, would you read? i've read like 38245728495 of them this weekend alone, and its something bugging me. answer in comments? xx
> 
> a.


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